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NOTES 


OP 


A VOLUNTEER. 

f.tt gMofritgraijlj. 



C. m SMITH, 

i \ ' 

AUTHOR OF “WORKINGMAN’S WAY IN THE WORLD,” “CURIOSITIES 

OF LONDON LIFE,” ETC., ETC. 



BUFFALO: 

A. BURKE, PUBLISHER. 

1856. 




? 



\ 



THOMAS & LATHROPS, 
STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS, 
BUFFALO, N.Y. 






NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER 


OF THE 

FRENCH REPUBLIC. 


CHAPTER I. 

My Birth and Parentage — My Republican Views — And those of the Counsellor— A 
Compromise. — Going to be Married — “Many a Slip ’ twixt the Cup and the 
Lip ” — The Requisition — Parting from Home — An Awkward Squad — Arrival 
at Moulins — Am Drilled at Lyons — Defence of the Clergy — A Forcible Eject- 
ment — AJlwninican turned Soldier — My Friend Anselme — A Suspicious Per- 
son — A Discovery — We are False to our Principles — Chevrieres — Unaccount- 
able Mysteries — A Phantom Supper — A Night Adventure — More Mysteries — 
A Phantom Breakfast — The Baker and the Assignats — The Revolutionary 
Committee and their Appetites — Arrival at Vienne — Wanted a Billet — A Com- 
plaisant Mayor. 

A soldier in camp, and not employed either in sleeping, eat- 
ing, drinking, or killing, is at a loss to know how to pass away 
his time. It occurred to me one day, that, whilst we have the 
history of all the generals, none have yet dreamt of writing 
that of a private soldier. I resolved to write my own. 

I write with my sabre at mv side, my knapsack serves me 
for a desk, and my pen is frightfully ill-made ; I therefore claim 
some indulgence. Whatever may be the lot reserved in future 
for these pages (scribbled between two halts) with which, 
(foolishly, perhaps,) I fill my knapsack, they will, at least, have 
the merit of possessing that impress of actuality, which a work, 
written with a mind at rest, and more scrupulously studied, 
would probably want. 


10 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


I "Was born at Lusignan, the 24th August, 1768. My father 
possessed a competent, fortune, and exercised the profession of 
a notary, and I was destined to follow the same profession. 
When the storm of ’89 broke out, my father, far from sharing 
the joy and the hopes that the prospect of a new political 
horizon awoke in me, was, unhappily, suspected, and retired 
into the country. 

Receiving, in his retreat, only a very limited number of in- 
timate friends, he soon passed for an aristocrat. God knows, 
but for my uncle, the patriot, what would have been the con- 
sequences to him of this reputation. This uncle had been, up 
to ’89, an incumbrance to the family; incapable of pursuing 
the useful routine of business, of a restless and versatile dispo- 
sition, he found out that society wanted great reforms ; conse- 
quently he entered with enthusiasm into the revolutionary 
movement. In other respects, he was an excellent character, 
and in spite of a rather brusque manner — an essential acces- 
sory to his actual profession — he was not deficient in good 
nature or courtesy. 

Amongst the very limited number of friends that my father 
received, there was an old procureur of the king; a great 
enemy of the republic, and the father of a charming and ac- 
complished young lady. Every day the procureur and mvself 
had almost violent discussions on political subjects. Although 
my most earnest desire was to become his son-in-law, I could 
not bring myself to make the least concession to him. The 
love of liberty obtained the ascendancy in my heart, even over 
the passion which the virtues and beauty of his daughter had 
inspired. 

This state of things rendered me extremely unhappy, and I 
was at a loss- to know how to act, so as to make my love square 
with my duty, when, one morning, I received a visit from my 
intended father-in-law. 


A GRAVE DILEMMA. 


11 


“My friend/’ said he, noticing my surprise, “I see that you 
did not expect me ; but an explanation between us is become 
necessary. Do not interrupt me, I am about to speak to you 
as well in my own name as in that of your father.” 

“For a long time your parents and friends have remarked 
with pain that you have entered upon a fatal course — I mean 
the revolutionary movement, which is driving* France to ruin. 
But yesterday you gave proof of it, by an enthusiastic address 
delivered at the club. Trust my old experience of men and 
things, when I say you are at this moment playing the part 
of a dupe.” 

“Sir,” cried I, interrupting the old counsellor, this is, per- 
haps the hundredth time that we have debated this same sub- 
ject, and have never yet been able to agree upon it. Would it 
not be better to let this irritating conversation drop? You will 
never be able to alter my convictions, and I have no preten- 
sions to change yours.” 

“ The warmth which you display at my words, proves to me 
that you are not quite so sure of your own views, as you would 
persuade yourself. Are you then so much afraid of the just- 
ness of my observations, that you dread to hear me ? In that 
case, nothing remains for me but to withdraw.” 

“Speak sir,” cried I, “in no respect do 1 fear to hear you; 
in proof of which, I am ready to listen with the greatest 
attention.” 

“I thank you for this permission, and shall avail myself of 
it. In order to avoid all personality, I shall take the general 
question. A thousand persons, my dear Alexis, ascribe the 
revolution to as many different causes; as for myself, I see only 
one ; it has taken place, because it was to take place. If the 
nobility had not shown themselves so frivolous and feint-hearted, 
the third estate so enterprising and encroaching, and the king 
go weak and indecisive, it is probable that the crisis that we 


12 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


yield to at this moment, would not have been accompanied by 
that hideous violence which has so justly alarmed the people 
of property; but the great social change 'would still have ad- 
vanced, because it was necessary. From the day that royalty, 
with the view of augmenting its power, destroyed feudality, we 
may date the commencement of the revolution. Now, I tell 
you, that this new era, which you hail with joy, as being the 
aurora of liberty, will retard, perhaps for a century, by its im- 
moralities and excesses, those salutary reforms which your 
youthful imagination dreams of, as immediately at hand. We 
are, in France, too much indoctrinated with the hierarchical 
principle, ever to become true republicans. There Will be a 
changing or displacement of the aristocracy, that’s all. To 
serve the ambitious, therefore, who govern us to-day, is, in my 
eyes, more than a blunder; it is a crime. As to associating 
in their monstrous frenzies, or taking part in their excesses, I 
will not do you the injustice to believe you capable of it.” 

“But sir,” cried I, interrupting the counsellor, “I don’t see 
that it follows, because a band of robbers have succeeded in 
prostrating Paris under the yoke of terror, that all France will 
be brought into bondage. Thank God! the provinces have 
not yet come into the arena; we have federalism.” 

“Here I stop you, for it is just this federalism that you 
preach — it stuns me to pronounce the word — to which you 
owe my visit of this morning. I acknowledge, with you, that 
this federalism is greatly in fashion just now; only, like all 
fashionable things, it will not last long. In the meantime, the 
departments arm themselves, revolt, make a great noise, and 
our little city, not wishing to be behind, is raising a company 
of volunteers.” 

“It is true, sir; you may add that I have enrolled myself 
among them.” 

“ I know this only too well ; but allow me to address you, 


MY PATRIOTISM TRIED. 


13 


and I beseech you to answer me, with frankness, one single 
question. Do you not seek in danger, a distraction from |four 
unhappy love for my daughter ? If I give you her hand, would 
you still think of setting out ? ” 

“No, sir,” replied I, with eagerness, “if such a happiness 
awaited me, I would not set out.” 

“Your frankness gives me pleasure,” replied he, taking my 
hand with a paternal air. “ This happiness which seems to you 
impossible, or which you regard, at least, as if far from you, 
is within your reach, and you may easily attain it. No trans- 
ports,” continued he, seeing the emotion caused by these words, 
“let me first finish what I have to say to y oar.” 

“ I hear you, sir, but for goodness sake, speak quickly.” 

“I am going to offer you the means of obtaining the hand 
of my daughter. Wait before you thank me, until you know 
my conditions.” 

“ Whatever they may be, sir, provided you do not exact the 
sacrifice of my opinions, I subscribe to them beforehand.” 

“And it peremptorily involves that sacrifice.” 

“ I shall refuse, sir,” replied I, with firmness. 

“Allow me ; if I ask of you only a feigned abandonment of 
your opinions, will that be as painful to you? ” 

“Enough, sir,” cried I, interrupting him. “I feel a deep 
attachment for your daughter, but it shall never lead me to 
dishonor. I cannot abjure my opinions.” 

“Then, you refuse me?” 

“Yes, sir, in the name of my regard for your daughter, I 
refuse to become a coward and a hypocrite.” 

At this reply, which I supposed would raise an impassible 
barrier between the counsellor and myself, the former, to my 
great astonishment, smiled, and held out his hand. 

“My dear Alexis,” said he, in a grave tone, “your answer 
has decided your lot. I have never resolved that my son-in-law 
should profess such-and-such opinions, but only, that he should 


14 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


be an honorable man. Forgive the snare that I have laid for 
you^ my daughter is yours/’ 

It is useless to describe, first, my stupefaction, and then, my 
transports. The reader will have no difficulty in imagining 
them. 

My father and his friend agreed that my marriage should 
take place in three months, but I urged that the ceremony 
should take place without delay; my father, however, was 
inflexible. Alas! three days after, the sound of the drum 
threw all our little city into a tumult, and the law passed by 
the convention was officially published, which ordered that all 
unmarried young men, between the ages of eighteen and 
twenty-five years, should hold themselves in readiness to march 
at the first requisition. 

The next day, I received the order to join the meeting of 
my comrades, to nominate our officers, and form ourselves Into 
companies. J udge of my despair ! I immediately ran to the 
house of my future father-in-law. 

“My dear Alexis,” said he to me, “your father and I have 
done very wrong in opposing your wishes. Now, that the mis- 
chief is irreparable, nothing remains for us but to bear it with 
•courage.” 

“Well,” cried I, “then I will serve as a volunteer, and hope 
for a speedy end to the war.” 

“Very well, nephew,” said my uncle, the patriot, who chanced 
to be present, “I like to see in you these republican sentiments. 
As to the rest, leave it to me. I will find out a way, if the 
military life does not agree with your disposition, to free you 
from the service a few months hence. In the meantime, I will 
send you with letters of recommendation to the most eminent 
patriots of the cities in which you will be garrisoned. I only 
fear one thing, that your new way of life will appear so de- 
sirable to you, that you will not be able to decide upon return- 
ing to us.” 


MY MILITARY DEBUT. 


15 


My setting off being resolved on, my excellent parents bad 
nothing to do but to concert measures to render my route less 
disagreeable to me. A week after, at four o’clock in the morn- 
ing', everybody in the house was on foot, that day being fixed 
for the departure of the volunteers. At eight o’clock, when 
the drums began to beat, my mother and sisters broke out into 
lamentations. My father, wishing to soften the violence of 
their grief, proposed that they should accompany me to the 
square, where I was to unite myself to my companions — I will 
not say in glory, but in misfortune. He hoped that the pre- 
sence of the crow would induce them to make a strong effort 
to conceal their sorrow. It was a sad spectacle that awaited 
us upon the square. On all sides we saw nothing but tears, 
heard nothing but sobs from mothers, daughters, desolate rela- 
tives. Never have I assisted at a similar scene of despair. 

At last the signal was given for our departure. For the 
last time, I embraced my family and my betrothed, and 
then entered the ranks. The blue column put itself in motion, 
and rapidly traversed the city. Soon after, we disappeared 
upon the grand route, under a cloud of dust. 

I was for many days so absorbed in grief, that I was com- 
pletely insensible to the objects presented to my view ; I fol- 
lowed my comrades mechanically, without any consciousness 
either of the distance or the places through which we passed ; 
and it would greatly puzzle me to be obliged to tell what cities 
we entered, in pursuing the route to Nevers. 

By degrees, however, for sorrow is transient, I recovered 
from the dejection in which I was plunged, and began to take 
an interest in the novel life which I was called to lead. The 
first circumstance that awoke my attention, was a violent quar- 
rel which I witnessed, between two of my comrades. The 
origin of this scuffle, for the two combatants exchanged blows 
with unparalleled vigor, was a foolish dispute about some 
chestnuts. * 


16 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Our comrades would have done well to save us this scan- 
dal,? said I, to a young volunteer, a spectator, like myself, of 
the fray. “ If we wear the uniform, we should recollect that 
we have a sword at our sides, and not fight like a couple of 
street porters.” 

“But, comrade,” replied the volunteer, “you must see that 
a duel is impossible between these two friends.” 

“ Why, how is that ? ” 

“Just because the military hierarchy is opposed to it. A 
drummer has no right to cross swords with a lieutenant.” 

“ What ! is it then our drummer and lieutenant who make 
all this row.” 

“Just so; and the drummer began it.” 

“This is strange discipline! After all, I don’t well see how 
an exchange of sabre-passes can be more injurious to discipline 
than one of fisticuffs.” 

“There you are right; but the two champions have never 
handled arms in their Jives, whilst they are accustomed to box- 
ing:; that is some little excuse for them.” 

At the terminatio„n of the scandalous row, which was wound 
up by glasses of brandy drunk by the combatants, I learned 
something of the officers who commanded us; and the follow- 
ing is the account I obtained. Our captain, whose age (over 
forty) exempted him from the conscription, was an advocate 
who never had a brief. Despairing ©f the future, and desirous 
of making up for the past, he entered amongst the volunteers, 
and spoke so fluently on the day of election, that they were 
compelled to make him a captain, in order to silence him. 

The profession of our lieutenant, was a joiner. Residing 
near the barracks, he managed to retain, with the proper into- 
nation, the words of command of certain maneuvers. He 
consequently offered himself as a complete tactician ; was be- 
lieved on his own word, and promoted unanimously to the 
rank of lieutenant. 


MY COMRADES. 


17 


As to our sub-lieutenant, be was a young simpleton, eighteen 
years old, and had just quitted the paternal roof. The gro- 
tesque manner in which he wore his spectacles, greatly amused 
the volunteers, who made themselves merry during the march 
at the expense of his excessive simplicity. He owed his epaulet 
to his father’s character; who, although the revolution had de- 
prived him of his rank as a magistrate, was beloved and es- 
teemed. You may conceive, with such officers, what must be 
the discipline of our detachment. In general, when we passed 
through the towns, the peasants hastened — and I acknowledge 
that they were right — to shut their doors. 

At Moulins, we entertained the inhabitants with a remark- 
able spectacle; for w r e turned out to do the exercise, which 
proved a pell-mell impossible to describe. 

“Captain,” said I, at the evening of the same day, to our 
commander-in-chief, “I am afraid that when we find ourselves 
in front of the enemy, we shall cut a sorry figure.” 

“Citizen,” replied he, “be cautious! your proposition is se- 
ditious ; know that democrats can never be conquered.” 

The day after our deplorable warlike essay, there fortunately 
arrived in the city a representative of the people, followed by 
a battalion from Le Cote d’Or. This functionary, charged 
with the organization of the troops, embodied us, without 
entering into any explanation, with the men of his battalion. 

Our captain, furious at the loss of his epaulet, took leave 
of us in an abrupt and disagreeable address, and returned 
home. 

As to myself, thanks to the privilege of youth, of forgetting 
the past and enjoying the present, I felt quite proud of being 
incorporated amongst the grenadiers of a regular corps, and 
began to think that the military life was not quite so bad a thing 
as I had imagined. I displayed my good will and zeal with so 
much frankness, that it was noticed by my comrades; and a 
few days . after they nominated me a corporal. I had then 


18 


NOTES Oy A VOLUNTEER. 


under my orders, my two former officers, the lieutenant and 
sub-lieutenant, the joiner- tactician and the judge’s son. 

It was in this manner that, by a decree of two lines, twenty 
thousand officers, and more than a hundred thousand sub-offi- 
cers, became common soldiers. Such an operation, however 
necessary, could only be performed in an army of young mili- 
tia-men, in the year two of the republic, and by the committee 
of public safety. 

On arriving at Lyons, I was billeted at the house of a to- 
bacco and stamped paper merchant, who received me so well 
that I renounced my first resolution of going to an hotel. 

I employed the week that I remained at Lyons, in taking 
private lessons in exercise, from an old soldier. These lessons 
taught me to carry my musket, and relieved me from the 
awkwardness of a conscript But it was not without satisfac- 
tion that I left the second city of France; for Lyons then 
presented the most melancholy aspect that one can possibly 
imagine. On all sides we saw nothing but ruins and revelry, 
formidable mustachios, placards, and muskets; a death-like 
silence, interrupted only by the sound of the drum, hovered 
over the unhappy city. 

The first halt that we made after leaving Lyons, was at a 
village named Saint Priest. Overcome by the heat, I hastened, 
as soon as we had broken rank, to enter a cabaret. Many of 
my comrades had already seated themselves at table, and were 
holding an animated discussion. 

“Yes, citizens, I repeat that all the misfortunes of France 
have been produced by the immorality of her clergy,” cried a 
grenadier, in a furious tone. “The republic has committed a 
grand error in permitting the forsworn scullcaps to remain in 
France. We ought to have cut their throats without pity.” 

“Hold! you are going too far, citizen,” said an old soldier, 
sipping his wine. 

“Too far, do you say, comrade?” rejoined the grenadier. 


FEROCIOUS DEMOCRAT, 


19 


with a furious look; “well, for my part, I do not think it is 
far enough yet. We should burn them with a slow fire.” 

“Positively, citizen, I think you are enraged against the 
churchmen.” 

“That’s the word! Scullcaps, Verges, and Sacristans are 
all rabble and thieves ! But am I to understand, comrade, that 
you dare to take their part ? ” 

“Why not?” answered the soldier with a perfect indiffer- 
ence ; “ there are honest men in all classes of society.” 

“Honest priests!” 

“Certainly; I have even known many who where very vir- 
tuous.” 

“Will you hold your tongue, miserable stipendary!” cried 
the grenadier in a menacing tone. “If you add another word, 
I will plunge my sabre into your throat.” 

“I will not hold my tongue, because it amuses me to con- 
tradict a simpleton ; and I care nothing for your rusty sabre,” 
replied the defender of the clergy, with the same sang-froid 
that he had hitherto displayed. 

“Then, rascal, here ’s at you,” cried the grenadier, who, 
drawing his sabre, sprang towards his opponent. 

Seeing that nobody appeared disposed to interrupt this 
assassin, I went to throw myself between the two adversaries, 
when the soldier, first avoiding adroitly by a leap on one side, 
the blow which threatened him, threw himself afterward with 
such impetuosity upon the grenadier, that before the latter had 
time to use his sabre, he had seized him in his arms. 

“Holloa! citizens, stand away from the door, if you please,” 
said he, in a voice which displayed no emotion. “Here’s a 
comrade whose fury chokes him; he wants a little fresh air.'’ 

Immediately, and with a super-human strength, which I 
should never have believed was possessed by any human 
being, the soldier flung the grenadier out of the caberet to a 
distance of several paces. 


20 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Now, that is settled!” said he, returning to his place 
which he occupied at the table. “ Comrades,” he continued, 
“pray do not take offense at what I have done. Forgive me 
there, for having for a moment departed from my habitual 
mildness of character. But I am not fond of Hectors; and to 
say the truth, the conduct of that grenadier deserved a slight 
lesson.’'’ 

These explanations were received with great favor by the 
company ; not a voice was raised in favor of the vanquished. 

“ Citizen,” said the Hercules to me, pushing his glass towards 
me, “I noticed the movement that you made to come to my 
assistance; pray accept the expression of my thanks.” 

“You certainly had no want of my assistance,” answered I, 
smiling; “but since you recur to this event, may I ask you 
why you have undertaken what, in fact, has given me great 
pleasure — the defense of the clergy.” 

He looked at me for a moment, and then said, lowering his 
voice, “I have defended the clergy from a remnant of habit. 
You see in me, an old Dominican ! Considering the transfor- 
mations which are now occurring,” he added, “you need not 
be surprised to see an old monk encumbered with a musket 
and cartridge box; for we are engaged every day in such 
strange exhibitions, that extravagant and unforseen things 
are the only ones which we ought now to expect. In other 
respects, my history has nothing in it very extraordinary.” 

“Nevertheless, I confess I shall be delighted if you will 
relate it to me.” 

“Willingly, — a few words will suffice. In 1790, the con- 
vent of the Dominicans at Clermont Ferrant, the capital of the 
province of Auvergne, in which I was chief brother, wished to 
revive the ancient privilege of begging, with which that order 
had formerly been invested, and I was appointed to go into 
the country on that mission. No one had a doubt respecting 
the success of my circuit, and each of the brothers rejoiced 


THE MONK’S HISTORY. 


21 


beforehand, in the small profits it might procure us ; profits so 
! much the more agreeable, that we had to render no account 
! of these to the district. But, alas! We did not take into ac- 
! count the perfidy of our neighbors the Capuchins, who, 

' having been made acquainted with the design of our fraternity, 
hastened to take the field before us with their mendicants, 
i These wretches did not confine their knavery to this movement. 
They ordered their emissaries industriously to spread a report 
amongst the peasantry in the country, that Saint Dominic hav- 
| ing become too rich, had fallen into disgrace in heaven, and 
had completely lost his influence as a mediator. The result of 
this maneuver was just what might be expected ; that is to say, 

! my wallet remained desperately empty. The devil, at this 
: juncture, brought me face to face with one of these mendicant 
Capuchins. I must do myself the justice to say, that I showed 
extreme courtesy toward my rival, but the poor wretch, in- 
toxicated by his success, could not preserve a decent behavior 
toward me ; he began first to joke me about the discredit of 
Saint Dominic, pretended to pity me afterward, for the fatigue 
1 of carrying my money bags, and at last wound up by falling 
into the greatest coarseness. What more shall I tell you ? the 
1 natural consequences followed; with one blow of my fist, I 
felled my rival at my feet. I am to this day ignorant whether 
I had the misfortune to kill him out of hand. However this 
may be, I took flight and regained my convent, where my 
brethren received me with transport, and assured me that my 
conduct did me great honor. Unfortunately, justice did not 
entertain the same opinion, and one night whilst I slept the 
' sleep of the just, the officers of the marshalsea surrounded our 
, convent. I escaped by an outlet known only to myself, and to 
avoid detection, enlisted as a private soldier. This, citizen, is 
my history.” 

This recital diverted me, and gave me the idea of making a 


22 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


comrade of the ex-dominican, who, in other respects, seemed io 
me a good fellow enough. 

“Faith,” said I, “now that we know one another, if you like j 
we will be friends. The isolation in which I find myself, lies 
heavy on me, and I shall not be sorry to have a companion.” 

“With pleasure, citizen,” answered he, offering me Jiis hand; ! 
“let it be so! my name is Anselme. Between ourselves now 
it is for life or death.” 

“Are you contented with your fate, Anselme?” asked I. 

“Faith, I do n’t complain. I like a life of excitement and 
adventure, and reasonable privations do not frighten me.” 

“Now, are you a patriot?” 

“ I, a patriot ! ” cried Anselme, with an indignant air, “ Never L. 
I am a thorough-going republican.” 

“But, is not that the same thing?” 

“By the Lord! no. The patriot, so called, is commonly 
either a poltroon or a speculator. Either a man whose whole 
object is the design of appropriating to himself the property 
of other people, or one who, afraid of losing his head, hastens 
to proclaim himself a patriot, to escape the guillotine. He, too, 
who wishes to revenge himself on an enemy, or to get rid of a 
rival ; the proud, covetous of honor ; the imbecile, who follows 
the stream; all are patriots, and yet there is not a republican 
among them.” 

It was decided between Anselme and me, that we would re- 
quest the commandant of our battalion to put us both in the 
same company, and that, as far as could be done, we should be 
billeted in such a manner as to be as much as possible together. 
While we were talking, the drums beat the recall, and obliged 
us to abandon the table, and we proceeded into the High-street 
of Saint Priest. It was a communication that our commander 
had to make to us. It related to the despatch of a detach- 
ment into the mountains of Forez, chiefly in the village of 
Chevri&res, with orders to arrest those who had not submitted 


THE MOUNTAINEER. 


23 


to the conscription law. The commander asked for fifty men 
, to volunteer for this patriotic mission, with the promise of hav- 
I ing their names inscribed in the bulletin. 

Anselme was the first to present himself, and I immediately 
| followed his example. 

“ What’s the reason, comrade,” said I to him, when, half an 
hour later, our little detachment was completed, “that you 
wish to make a part of this expeditionary column ? If I am 
not mistaken, our mission has nothing very agreeable in it. 
To prosecute, pursue, and arrest poor wretches, who prefer 
tilling the ground and supporting their families, to going out 
to fight, without knowing why or wherefore, at the frontier, is 
a pastime which affords me very little pleasure.” 

“ I offered myself,” answered Anselme, “first, because I pre- 
fer forming part of a small detachment, to following a column.” 

“For what reason ?” 

“Because the columns starve the country through which 
they pass, and the troops half die of hunger; whilst those in 
a small detachment are fed, made much of, and lodged by the 
peasants, who, for good reasons, endeavor to insinuate them- 
selves into the good graces of the soldiers.” 

“I understand. Your zeal is entirely a matter of eating 
and drinking.” 

“And of humanity, also ; for I am happy when I can render 
a service to my species; Now, in the mission with which we 
are charged, it is twenty to one that I shall find an opportunity 
of being useful to some poor devil.” 

We returned to the caberet, and were again seated at table, 
and conversing about our approaching expedition, when we 
noticed an individual who wore the costume of a mountaineer, 
and who, his head supported with his hands upon the table, 
seemed in a deep sleep. He appeared to awake suddenly, and 
addressing himself to us, in a most decided tone ; 

“Are you not speaking of Forez, citizen soldiers ? ” said he. 


24 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Yes, we did speak of it,” replied I, much surprised at this 
question; “but what does it signify to you?” 

“Oh nothing, citizen soldier; only, as I am from the country, 
I thought you might not be sorry to obtain some information. 
That is all.” 

“It appears, friend, that you slept very lightly!” said An- 
selme, looking steadily at the mountaineer. 

“ I was not asleep, citizen soldier. I was thinking, just then, 
of a law-suit which torments me, and on account of which I 
am returning to Lyons,” answered the peasant. 

“And what is the information you have to impart to us ? ” 

“ Nay, citizens, it is for you to question me. Do you inter- 
rogate me, I will do my best to satisfy you. If I am deficient 
in perspicacity, I am, at least, blunt and free.” 

“Perspicacity, bluntness,” repeated Anselme, slowly, glanc- 
ing a stealthy look at me, by way of warning. “ These expres- 
sions, friend, do not smell of the mountains.” 

“I do not understand you,” said the peasant, smiling, with 
a stupid look. 

At this reply, I examined the stranger attentively. From 
the affected assurance of his countenance, his feigned simplicity, 
his awkward and nervous gestures, I was convinced that he 
•was under a disguise, and playing a part. 

I then rapidly recalled the freedom we had used in conver- 
sation, and I felt that if that man was a government spy, the 
affair might become a very serious one for us ; and I resolved 
at once to clear up my suspicions. 

“ What is your profession, friend ? ” I demanded. 

“I am a laborer,” he replied. 

“ Oh ! Will you tell me what work you do; for you have the 
appearance of a good liver, and I suspect you are more fre- 
quently at a well-served table than at the plow- tail.” 

“ You deceive yourself, citizen, I am but a poor laboring lad, 
who sells the sweat of his body for a vile stipend ” 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


25 


■ “Truly! Well then, frankly, by the smoothness and white- 
ness of your hands, one would not doubt that you are a plow- 
man,” answered I, looking him steadily in the face. Then, 
turning to Anselme, I continued, “it has struck four o’clock, 
and I hear our comrades, who have reached the rendezvous ; 
I do n’t know, but I have an idea we are to have some' fun ; 
let’s go and receive them.” *■** 

. Anselme understood me, and taking his musket, took his 
stand before the door. Rising immediately from the bench on 
which I was seated, I placed myself before the window of the 
cabaret, which looked directly upon the street. That door and 
window were the only outlets from the room. 

“Since you will no longer converse, I wish you good evening, 
citizens,” said the stranger, directing his steps toward the door. 

“Sorry to detain you, my amiable guest!” cried Anselme, 
turning toward him rapidly; “but your conversation is so 
agreeable, that I wish my comrades also to enjoy it. Ah ! pray 
remain quiet, and put down those pistols, the stocks of which 
I see lying across the flaps of your pockets; otherwise, you 
know the old proverb — it is better to kill than be killed.” 

“ Fear nothing, sir,” said the peasant, “ I shall not resist ; I 
have managed: my part awkwardly, and have lost, you see. 
Raise your musket ! I am an honest man, who have never con- 
tested a gambling debt. My head is at your service.” 

There was an accent of resignation and dignity, so perfectly 
natural in the manner with which the stranger pronounced 
these words, that in spite of my suspicions I felt moved. 

“ Citizen,” answered I, “ we are soldiers, and not informers. 
Our business is to fight the enemies of the republic on the 
frontier; to die in defending it, but never to furnish victims for 
the executioners. If we have used the appearance of com- 
pulsion in your case, it is because we have taken you for a spy. 
The fear which you displayed, on supposing that we were going 
to give you up, leaves us no longer any suspicion in this 


26 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


respect, and we will not detain you any further; you are at 
liberty to retire.” 

The stranger listened in silence, and soon tears trickled from 
his eyes. Ah! gentlemen,” cried he, at last, fervently grasp- 
ing’ the hand of each of us, “if all republicans acted as you) 
have done, I should not now be disguised in a peasant’s dress, 
and compelled to wander in the mountains. You would reckon 
one man more in your ranks, and one who could cheerfully 
present his breast to the balls of the foreigner. But, alas ! 1 
thanks, gentlemen, thanks! may I one day have it in my power 
to reward your generosity ! And who knows! You are going , 
into the mountains of Forez; the hour is, perhaps, not so dis- 
tant, when I shall be permitted to pay this debt of gratitude. 
Farewell.” 

After the departure of the pretended peasant, Anselme and 
I for a moment remained silent. At last my comrade broke 
into a fit of laughter. 

“What is the cause of your gayety ?” asked I. 

“I laugh,” replied he, “ to think of the caprices which human 
destinies often present. You and I have scarcely known each 
other a couple of hours, and behold! we are now bound to 
each other by a fast friendship, and deserve the guillotine to- 
gether. The fact is, ^t is a thousand to one, that we have saved 
an aristocrat. Do you repent of what you have done ? ” 

“Far from it; I am ready, on the contrary, to do so again. 
Only I don’t think it would be very prudent to relate this 
adventure to the first comer.” 

“Oh! as to me, fear nothing. People who have belonged 
to the church know how to keep a secret.” 

The day after this conversation, our detachment marched at 
dawn. Although the distance we had to travel was not very 
great, the roads were so abominably bad, that we were three 
whole days in reaching the village of Chevrieres, the central 
point of our operations. 


HONEST TRAITORS. 


27 


About a league before arriving at Chevrieres, we met an 
old man, wlio, with -a sickle on his shoulder, was going to his 
work. Our captain called him. “Show us,” said he, “for, 
thanks to all these cursed by-ways! scarcely traceable, and 
crossing each other in all directions, we don’t know which way 
' to turn — show us the best road.” 

“Yes, citizen,” replied the old man, with a strong mountain 
accent, and disposing himself to pursue his way ; but our com- 
mander stopped him, and continued his queries. 

“You are from Chevrieres, are you not? Well, I give you 
to understand that your village is very badly reported in the 
papers of the republic. They say that it serves for a refuge 
for ail the deserters from the requisition ; that it is a true nest 
of conspirators against the republic. Come, answer uie frankly, 
and don’t attempt to impose upon me, or it may cost you dear. 
Are these charges well-founded ? ” 

“No, they are villainous lies, my good officer,” cried the old 
man, in a patois difficult to understand; “all the young men of 
Chevrieres are set out for the army, and are, at this moment, 
shedding their blood for the defense of the republic. The 
young girls are in great trouble, and the old men, like myself, 
are obliged, for want of the vigorous arms of their children, to 
do the work in the fields. That, however, is nothing; the en- 
thusiasm we feel for the republic, sustains our courage, and 
prevents us from complaining.” 

“ Did you notice,” said I to Anselme, when the old man was 
dismissed, “ the cunning look with which that old fellow an- 
swered the questions of our captain ? I don’t know whether 
it is merely an imaginary idea, but it appears to me that there 
prevails in these latitudes a strange and unnatural silence. 
Stop ! What noise is that ? ” 

“ It is the sound of a trumpet which reverberates in the dis- 
tance, with the echoes of the mountains.” 

“No, Anselme, you deceive yourself,” cried I, after stopping 


28 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


a moment, to listen more attentively. “Echo has no share in 
those repetitions; don’t you perceive that the sound is not repro- 
duced in a perfectly identical manner ? ” 

“What inference do you draw from that?” 

“These variations prove that th^se invisible musicians are 
numerous, and disseminated over the summits of the mountains 
which surround us.” 

“You are right; those trumpet sounds proceed from hidden 
spies, who warn the deserters of our approach, in order that 
they may gain their caverns, which, in critical times, serve them | 
for a refuge. What do you think of this explanation ? ” 

“I think it probable that you have hit upon the truth.” 
Chevrieres, when we entered it, presented the aspect of . 
neglect and solitude; the doors and windows of the huts were ; 
closed, and the sounds of our drum did not bring out one j 
of those inquisitive people, who in the country usually run to- ! 
gether, like a flock of sheep, at the sight of a detachment of I 
military. 

“ Citizens,” said our captain, alluding to this extraordinary 1 
silence, — “ this reception gives me a bad opinion of the citizen- i 
ship of these Forezians. However, I promise to make them 
pay dear for this want of respect. I have the list of the de- 
serters, and the description of their relatives. I am going to * 
billet you at the houses of these last, and I command you, in I 
the name of the republic, not to spare them. Drink their wine, i 
eat, and even waste their provisions ; make love to their daugh- 
ters ; in a word, make your stay so painful to them, that they j 
will be compelled, in order to get rid of your presence, to de- ; 
liver up the deserters, whom it is our business to arrest.” 

This recommendation was received by our detachment with 
an enthusiasm which proved to me, alas ! that the cruel orders 
of the commander would be only too well observed. I imparted j 
my fears, in a low voice, to Anselme, 

“ What can I do in such a case ? ” answered he. “ I am a 1 

I 


A SOLDIERS MORALITY. 


29 


soldier of the republic, and not a Don Quixote to redress 
wrongs. Let our comrades amuse themselves as they please, 
I shall offer no opposition to them.” 

“But you and I, Anselme?” 

“Ah, well, my dear friend, we will remain what we are, 
honest lads, and molest the villagers as little as possible. But 
I don’t intend to be starved.” 

The ranks being broken, and each of us being furnished with 
a billet, we proceeded towards the houses designed for us, and 
which were pointed out to us by some children whom we found 
squatted behind the garden hedges or in the angles of the 
doorways. Upon entering the cabin where we were to lodge, 
we found a poor old woman, quite crooked and almost blind, 
who was spinning at her wheel. 

“We are sent, mother, to keep garrison at your house,” said 
Anselme, mildly, “ but fear nothing, we will not interfere with 
you.” 

“ My poor house is at your service, my good soldiers,” an- 
swered the old woman, without leaving off spinning, — “ it is all 
that I can offer you.” 

“ I hope, however,” said Anselme, “ that you will think of 
providing us a dinner.” 

“ I am afraid,” she answered, “ your fare with me will be 
but little to your taste. If you like milk and fruit, you shall be 
served to your satisfaction. It is all I have.” 

“ A cup of milk and some figs ! ” cried Anselme, with a comic 
despair, which made me almost split with laughter ; “ how the 
deuce do you suppose that we can live on such rations ? let us 
see ; you must do better than that, or I shall be angry.” 

“ You may make yourself angry, if that will amuse you, my 
good soldiers,” answered our hostess, — “ but of what use will 
it be to be angry with me?” 

“ Take care, old lady ; rather than allow ourselves to die of 
cold and hunger, we will kill your whole poultry yard, sack your 


30 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


garden, and burn your movables!” cried my comrade, in a 
stentorian voice, and indicating to me, by a jerk of bis head, 
that I must not take it as serious. 

“ I have neither poultry-yard, nor garden, my good soldier ; 
as to burning my movables, — look round you, — what do you 
see ? a broken chair, a spinning wheel, and a little straw, — 
that’s all that I possess in the world.” 

“ Well then we will kill you,” cried Anselme, in a sharp voice. 

“ Kill me, my good soldier,” answered the old woman, in the 
same monotonous and resigned tone which she had preserved 
during the whole of the conversation. “It is a real service 
that you would do me. I am old and infirm, and a burden to 
everybody about me. My son, who would have been able to 
soothe my last days, the same that you accuse of disobedience, 
has been dead these many years, and has left me alone in the 
world. Ought I not to wish to go and join him in heaven?” 

“An old sorceress,” said Anselme to me, humorously — “ I 
am afraid there is nothing to be got out of her.” 

“ Nay, Anselme, if that unhappy creature has nothing,” — 

“The truth is, she does not appear to revel in wealth. But 
you see, the night is approaching, and we are still fasting. 
Suppose we go out and forage.” 

“ Let’s try first to procure ourselves a dinner by paying for 
it, and if we cannot do that — why then we must plunder.” 

I went out with Anselme in order to go through the village, 
but after rummaging all the houses, and exploring the environs, 
we could not procure ourselves the least portion of food. Our 
comrades were in a similar position with ourselves, whilst on 
all sides we were saluted with oaths and imprecations. As to 
the scanty inhabitants — they did not number a score — whom 
we met in the village, they were all alike infirm and aged, and 
appeared so near second childishness that the most exasperated 
men of our detachment did not dream of venting on them their 
ill humor. At last night came, and, despairing of success, 


A POOR COMMISSARIAT. 


31 


Anselme and I returned to our hut, to accept the milk and figs 
that our old hostess had offered us. Unfortunately, when we 
arrived, we found the old lady gone. 

“Anselme,” said I, “the proverb declares that ‘he who 
sleeps, also. dines!’ For want of something better, let’s go to 
bed.” 

“That appears to be the only alternative left us, and is far 
preferable to racking our brains for nothing, — let’s go to bed.” 

We then retired into the closet, at the end of the cabin, hav- 
ing previously barricaded the outer door which opened to the 
street. We threw ourselves, dressed as we were, upon a bunch 
of straw, which represented our bed, and were already dropping 
asleep, when we seemed to hear some one walking in the nar- 
row passage. 

“ Who’s there ? ” cried I, seizing my musket. 

“A friend, and by chance,” answered a voice which seemed 
familiar to me. 

We sprang at one bound upon our feet, and greatly con- 
founded, that after having barricaded the door, any one should 
be able to enter the dwelling. We advanced with fixed bayonets. 

Almost at the same moment a ray from a dark lantern 
lightened our chamber, and we perceived, with an astonishment 
which I cannot describe, the pretended peasant, whom four 
days before we had met in the cabaret of Saint Priest 

“It appears to me, -gentlemen,” said lie, smiling, “that I 
am destined to die by your hands ; for twice only has chance 
brought us together, and each time your muskets have been 
leveled against me.” 

“ How have you been able to get in here ? ” demanded I. 

“In a very simple manner — by the door.” 

“It was securely barricaded,” cried I, “and — but look, that’s 
strange ! The bars have not been taken away, it is still closed.” 

“ Tis true enough,” said Anselme, “ are you a magician, 
citizen ? ” 9 


32 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ I am nothing more, than a man whom you have treated 
generously, and who comes in his turn, to do you a slight ser- 
vice,” replied the pretended peasant. “ I certainly do not mean 
that I have thereby acquitted myself of you by so small a 
matter; my intention is only to pay you the interest of the 
gratitude that I owe you. I have opportunely brought you a 
supper.” 

“ A supper! ” cried Anselme with joy. “ Faith, that ’s not to 
be refused ; I am dying of hunger.” 

The mysterious stranger then placed upon the rickety table, 
a tolerably heavy basket, from which he drew a cold fowl, two 
bottles of wine, bread and fruit. 

“It now remains, gentlemen,” said he, “before taking leave 
of you, probably for ever, for I do n’t think we shall ever see 
each other again, to reiterate to you my expressions of gratitude, 
and to give you my advice. Take care, during your stay at 
ChevriSres, never to venture alone in the environs of the 
village.” 

“Why so? Are we then in an enemy’s country? ” I asked. 

“df you had taken the trouble to reflect a moment, and to 
recall to your mind what is the commission with which you are 
charged, you would not have addressed that question to me,” 
answered he. 

“ The fact is ” said Anselme, “ the citizen is right ! We have 
not been sent here precisely to promote the welfare of the 
peasantry, and I can well conceive that the inhabitants of Chev- 
rieres are not over fond of us. I freely confess that I shall 
not be sorry to leave this village.” 

“ Oh, as to that, fear nothing. You will not remain here 
long,” said our mysterious and unknown friend, smiling in a 
very significant manner. “ Now, adieu ! ” 

“Allow me, citizen,” cried Anselme, seizing the stranger by 
the arm ; “ why do you think it is probable that we shall not 
remain many days at Ohevrieres?” 


33 


AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 

♦ 

“Because the-commander of your detachment will undoubt- 
edly not be pleased here. Observe his countenance to-morrow ; 
you will then see in it the traces of wakefulness, caused by his 
reflections during the night. But time flies, and I must be ten 
leagues from Chevrieres before dawn. Again, thanks, and 
adieu.” 

The unknown then gave us both a warm shake of the hand, 
and I went towards the door in order to open it for him, when 
he all at once extinguished -his lamp, and disappeared, leaving 
us in darkness. On again procuring a light, we examined, 
with the greatest care, the ground and the walls : our musket 
stocks, wherever we struck, produced only a dead and blunt 
sound, proving clearly that no secret outlet existed in the hut. 

“ Truly,” cried Anselme, “ we are frightened out of our 
senses. I think it will be best not to perplex ourselves any 
longer about this mystery. Let’s sup. 

As I had been fasting from the morning, I accepted the 
invitation, and we sat down to table. I must do this justice to 
our eccentric friend, of whom be it said, by the bye, he will 
not again appear in our history; — I must do him this justice 
of acknowledging that his fowl was cooked to a nicety, his two 
bottles of wine, of the best quality, and his fruit of the choicest. 

This repast being finished, Anselme again betook himself to 
his bundle of straw, and prepared to sleep. For my part, I 
resolved to keep watch ; and the closet where we were being 
inconveniently hot, I took up my position upon the threshold 
of the outer door. It might have been about half an hour that 
I had thus breathed the fresh air, when I thought I perceived 
through the shades of night, at a hundred paces from me, some 
moving shadows. I took my musket, and advanced softly 
upon tip toe, in the direction in which I had discovered the fig- 
ures, and gained a bushy hedge, in which I squatted myself, in 
spite of the brambles and thorns which tore my clothes and 
scratched my hands. Judge of my astonishment, when I saw, 


34 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


coming out of a very large and handsome house, the most re- 
markable one in Chevrieres, a hundred men, all armed with 
scythes and muskets. Yet, in the morning when we arrived in 
the village, there was scarcely found, as I have already stated^ 
twenty inhabitants, including old folks and children ! How then 
could one house produce so considerable a troop of people ? 
I was lost in conjecture. However, my discoveries ended here; 
for these men, having exchanged a few words amongst them- 
selves, in a voice so low that it was impossible for me to catch 
a single syllable, separated instantly, and went off in different 
directions. After waiting another hour, during which no remark- 
able event occurred, I determined to abandon my post of obser- 
vation, and regain my cabin. I succeeded after some trouble 
in emerging from the hedge, when I found myself face to 
face with a man whom the darkness prevented me from seeing 
distinctly. 

“ Who 's there ? ” cried I, leveling my musket. 

“A Frenchman, and a friend,” answered the stranger in a 
calm and sonorous voice. 

“What are you doing out at this time of night?” I de- 
manded. 

“I am a poor laborer, who having no servant to help me in 
my work, am obliged to set out for the field at four o’ clock,” 
answered he. 

“ I am sorry for it, but you must not pass here ! ” 

“Why not, soldier? I do n’t know of any existing law which 
forbids a citizen from going to his work at any hour he pleases.” 

“It is not a question of law: you must follow me this instant 
to my captain.” 

“Walk on, and I follow you,” answered the stranger, in a 
tone of raillery. 

“Listen,” said I, “I am neither an informer nor a savage, 
but a soldier. Now, as certain circumstances lead me to think 
that the detachment of which I form a part, is exposed at this 


MYSTERIES. 


35 


moment to danger, I arrest you provisionally, to enable me to 
clear up my suspicions.” 

“That ’s another thing, citizen, and I have nothing to say 
against it. Do your duty; but do you know where your 
captain lodges?” 

“Well, I confess I do not.” 

“Then it is I who must conduct you to your officer,” said 
the unknown, interrupting me, — “this will beHhe easier for 
me, because lie lodges at my house.” 

The laborer then walked before me and stopping, after 
going a few paces, before that large and handsome house of 
which I have already spoken — 

“Here it is,” said he; “let us enter.” 

He passed first, and calling aloud for a servant, desired him 
to bring a light. At the same moment a mountaineer pre- 
sented himself with a lamp. 

“Light us, John,” said my prisoner, “we are going to the 
captain.” 

John passed through three or four rooms, and stopping 
before a closed door, “must I knock?” asked he, addressing his 
master. 

“Yes, Jphn, but knock softly; it is possible the captain is 
not yet awake.” 

I was going to speak, when I was interrupted by the voice 
of the captain, who, in a tone of alarm, demanded what we 
wanted. 

“It is one of your soldiers, who wants to speak to you,” 
answered the laborer. 

A moment after, the captain, with a lamp in one hand and 
his sword in the other, cautiously opened the door of his 
chamber, and recognizing my uniform: “What do you want 
with me at this hour?” said he, roughly. 

I noticed that our commander looked extremely pale, and 
that his countenance betrayed inquietude and agitation. As 


36 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


for the laborer, an ironical smile, full of contempt, raised the 
upper lip of a handsome and well defined mouth, and imparted 
to his physiognomy, which was in other respects, noble, an air 
of hauteur, sin<ndar for a man in his situation of life. 

“ I wish to have a private conversation with you,” replied I. 

“Then, citizen, do me the pleasure to retire,” said the officer, 
addressing the latter, in a tone of politeness quite unusual to 
him. The mountaineer moved toward the door in obedience 
to this order, when I detained him. 

“Pardon me, captain,” cried I, “I have just arrested this 
man, and as I am not sufficiently acquainted with him to leave 
him at liberty on his parole, and it is also probable that we 
may want him to explain some facts to us, I wish to secure 
his person. If it is not disagreeable to you, we will send him 
to the end of the room, whilst our conversation lasts, and we 
will speak in a low voice.” 

At this proposal the mountaineer remained unmoved ; but 
the captain immediately said, with an indignant look: “Why 
have you arrested this brave citizen? Who gave you the 
order and the power?” 

“I thought I ought to take your advice, captain, respecting 
the circumstances.” 

“Well, then, you are wrong. The inhabitants of Chevrieres 
are citizens devoted to the republic, and are to be treated with 
respect; do you hear? For the rest, our commission is ter- 
minated. There are no defaulters in this village, and to-mor- 
row we must be upon the march again. Now, explain your- 
self, quickly ; what communication have you to make to me ? ” 

“None now, captain. I believed that our detachment was in 
danger; that they wished to draw us into a snare; but from 
the moment that you guarantee the perfect honesty and the 
good dispositions of the inhabitants of Chevrieres, it only 
remains for me to hold my tongue and withdraw.” 

“Yes, I see, after all, you do n’t know this country so well 


MY FIRST PRISONER. 


37 


as I do ; but your proceeding proves tliat you are a- good re- 
publican. Good night. I will not forget the zeal you have 
displayed on this occasion, and will take care it shall be noticed.” 

The embarrassment and painful hesitation with which the 
captain pronounced these words, astonished me much, but still 
less than this resolution. To quit Chevrieres in twenty-four 
hours ! when it had been agreed that we should remain there 
in garrison as long as any of the defaulters remained at large, 
appeared an inconceivable thing, although as the reader will 
recollect, it had been predicted by our amphytrion, the pre- 
tended peasant. What were the means practised with our 
officer, thus to make him forget his duty, it is impossible to 
say. I can only relate the fact; I was retiring, when the 
laborer who accompanied me, requested me, as I passed the 
dining room, to enter for a few moments. 

“It is the least you can do, citizen,” said he, with a slightly 
satirical look, “after all the mischief you have brought on 
yourself, that you should restore your spirits a little. If you 
are so disposed, I shall be happy to drink to your speedy 
departure from Chevrieres.” 

“Sir,” said I, “I bear no malice, and willingly accept your 
invitation.” 

I was not sorry indeed to have the opportunity of convers- 
ing a little with this unfortunate laborer who was compelled to 
rise so early in the morning, to work in the fields for want of 
servants, and who, notwithstanding, was the owner of a house 
so well furnished. He was about forty or forty-five years of 
age ; his countenance, bronzed by the sun, was remarkable for 
the regularity of its features, and still more for their marked 
expression of boldness and dignity. 

“May I ask you, citizen, what is your name?” said I. 

“My name is Jacques; and the villagers call me — I do n’t 
know why — ‘Monsieur Jacques.’ ” 

“ Probably because of the education you have received ? ” 


3S 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“You quite mistake my condition; I have never had an edu- 
cation. I read very badly, and can scarcely sign my own 
name in a legible manner.” 

“And yet, there is in you, Monsieur Jacques, a certain air 
of assurance and authority.” 

“'But you see what I am, — a peasant.” 

. “An inhabitant of the country, — yes — that is, indeed, your 
position. Only, I don’t exactly know how I have got the idea, 
I figure to myself that there is in you a double nature; you 
appear to me a mystery personified.” 

“ Come, soldier, I see you are fond of a joke,” cried Monsieur 
Jacques. “Let us drink the parting cup and return, you to 
your post of observation, I to my fields.” 

“A parting question, Monsieur Jacques; pray inform me 
what were all the armed men whom I saw come out of your 
house ? I confess to you that this affair puzzles me extremely.” 

“Faith, what you call a mystery, is the easiest thing in the 
world to explain. These men represented the greatest part 
of the inhabitants of our village, who, fearing to be ill-treated 
by your detachment, have fled into the mountains. Have you 
finished your interrogating ? ” 

“Faith, you are so complaisant, ■ Monsieur Jacques, that I 
cannot resist asking you to clear it up. Why, then, were all 
these men armed with scythes and muskets ? ” 

“Ah, you noticed the scythes and muskets! Well, I will 
not attempt to deceive you, although it would be very easy ; I 
confess, freely, that these arms were destined to attack your 
detachment, if it had attempted to commit those excesses which 
unfortunately are but too common.” 

“Thanks for your frankness, Monsieur Jacques. It teaches 
me, at least, that there are no republicans at Chevrieres.” 

“No, citizen, we are not, and we never will be, republi- 
cans at Chevrieres, whilst th,e power remains in the hands of 
the banditti who govern France! But it is time for me to 


THE GAME UP. 


39 


proceed on my way. Allow me to re-conduct you to your 
quarters.” 

On returning, a new astonishment was in reserve for me. 
On entering the hut, I perceived my comrade Anselme seated 
before a table, abundantly served, assailing with ardor a mag- 
nificent pasty. 

“Ah! do you see Monteil,” said he, with his mouth full; 
“you are just in time to help me.” 

“ How have you procured this splendid repast, Anselme ? ” 

“Do I know myself? Do I care about it? We are in a 
country of enchantment; and faith, I confess that I begin to 
find 'all these surprises very agreeable.” 

“But still this table has not furnished itself” — 

“What do you know about it? That Would not at all aston- 
ish me. All I can tell you is, that on waking just now, I per- 
ceived this rich ordinary awaiting us.” 

“It ’s very odd! After all, we must take what comes.” 

“Faith! I would willingly consent to take a ten years’ lease 
of a life like that which I have led since last night. I may 
truly say that I have not left off eating! But, by the bye, 
how is it that you have come back so late ? What have you 
been doing?” 

I then detailed to Anselme the various events of the night, 
but had the greatest trouble to convince him of my veracity. 
The resolution of our commander appeared to him a thing so 
very extraordinary, that he could not credit it. Anselme had 
scarcely left off eating, when we heard the sound of the drum 
beating the muster roll. A quarter of an hour later, the com- 
pany was mustered, and our commander ordered us to com- 
mence our march. I cannot express the astonishment of our 
comrades at this order. As for the officer himself, he looked 
excessively pale, and seemed much pre-occupied. 

“I am very much mistaken,” said Anselme to me, in a low 
voice, “if something very serious and mysterious has not 


40 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


happened to-night, to have made so great an impression on our 
captain. Mark his troubled look ; like a man condemned to 
death, and marching to the scaffold! I would cheerfully give, 
a month’s pay, — if they do pay us, — to know the end of this 
mystery !” Up to the moment in which I write, the curiosity 
of Ansel me has not been satisfied. 

A few days had scarcely gone by after we quitted Chevrieres, 
when we stopped at a town, the name of which I cannot re- 
collect. The roll-call of the drum being over, we received our 
billets for quarters. Mine as well as Anselme’s, gave us a 
baker for our host. My companion was delighted at the desti- 
nation assigned to us. In fact, bread was, at this period, a 
very rare commodity, and not always to be procured even for 
money ; so that the prospect of having it at discretion, was a 
very satisfactory one. 

Anselme insinuated himself so quickly into the good graces 
of our host, that this latter gave us a two-pound loaf for supper. 

Fatigued with the day’s march, we were about to retire to 
our beds, when we saw a ragged old man, with a ferocious 
countenance, enter the shop ; he demanded a loaf. 

“Willingly, citizen,” said our host to him. “Onlv, before 
I serve you, will you show me your money?” 

“Do you take me for a thief, or an aristocrat?” cried the 
buyer, with indignation. 

“ I take you for a hungry man, and nothing else. Now, as 
it happens every day, that people, without money, fling them- 
selves upon my goods, and cut into them with excellent' teeth, 
before they tell me of their poverty, I have taken the resolu- 
tion of not giving my bread till I touch the value of it.” 

“Oh, you have nothing to fear from me, citizen. Hold, 
here; give me the change.” 

The fellow drew from the pocket of his vest a slip of paper, 
black and creased, which he presented with an air of triumph 
to our host. 


A LOAF, OR ‘THE GUILLOTINE.’ m 41 

“What’s that?” asked the latter. 

“Parbleu! It is an assignat of twenty livres! Come, I say, 
serve me quickly, and give me the change.” 

“I prefer not serving you, and returning you your assig- 
nat!” cried the baker: “what the deuce am I to do with it?” 

“What care I! You are either a patriot, or not; if — ” 

“I am a patriot; that is undeniable; but that does not pre- 
vent me from being also a baker,” interrupted our host quickly. 
“As a patriot, I take your assignat; as a baker, I return it to 
you.” 

“Take care,” said the beggar, in a menacing tone ; “the law 
punishes the traitor with*death who refuses the paper of the 
republic.” 

“Parbleu! Hunger also punishes with death the poor 
wretch who has no money. I prefer the first kind of death to 
the second.” 

“Is that your resolution?” 

“ Quite so, citizen ; good night.” 

“Perhaps, citizen,” said Anselme to the baker, “you were 
not altogether prudent toward that man. For half a pound of 
bread you would have been quit ‘of him.” 

“It is a very easy thing for a soldier to speak thus,” said 
our host; “but if you were to be put in my place, you would 
soon think otherwise. Do you know that there does not pass 
a day that I do not receive a score such visits as that every 
hour ! Now if I had the weakness to yield in one instance to 
threats, what would be the result? Why, that I could then 
never refuse a single rag of paper, and, before a fortnight, 
would be reduced to the most frightful distress. I shall con- 
tinue to refuse the assignats.” 

Our host withdrew, and Anselme and I also had retired to 
the bed, when we were alarmed by violent and rapid blows 
upon the door. 

“The brute has not deceived us; after having barked, he 


42 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


comes to bite !” said the baker coolly, returning to us. “Here’s 
the revolutionary committee ! ” 

\ Furious blows again shook the door, which the baker has- 
tened to open. A dozen men in cloaks, and capped with red 
bonnets, thrust themselves into the shop. They represented 
the revolutionary committee. 

“ Citizens, what is it you want?” demanded our host, with- 
out chanoino’ countenance. 

• O O 

“We want, and we are going, to guillotine you, wretch!” 
cried the president, “because you have refused the national 
money, the assignats ! ” 

“I refuse the assignats ! ” cried the baker, with an air of deep 
indignation: “Well! that does seem a little singular to me! 
Why, there’s no one so eager and curious as myself after 
assignats. And I can give you proof of it. If you will walk 
into my back shop, I will show you a trunk that runs over with 
assignats of all kinds, all shapes, all values, and all sizes. I 
can assure you nobody runs after assignats like me ; it is abso- 
lutely a passion with me, — ” 

“Your lying protestations can do nothing against a fact,” 
said one of the members of the committee. “We have already 
received numerous complaints on your account, and wishing to 
satisfy ourselves if they were well founded, we, this night, sent 
an emissary, who demanded a loaf, offered an assignat, and 
has been rejected by you.” 

“Ah! yes! I recollect,” said the baker, laughing. “ I thought 
no more. about it. The fact is, it’s true. I wanted to have the 
money.” 

“Then you confess your crime ?” 

“My crime? Oh no, I confess a fancy, a caprice, which 
passed through my brain, and nothing else. As to the rest, if 
you will allow me a few words of explanation, you will at once 
see that my wish to obtain cash, arose from my patriotism. 
When I require silver money, which sometimes occurs, (,’tis of 


REPUBLICAN HONESTY. 


43 


no use to conceal it from you,) it is honestly to prevent it from 
falling into the hands of the federalists and aristocrats, and 
keep it in the interior. In other respects my citizenship is well 
known enough, and ought to prevent you from doubting my 
veracity. To-night, I have had another idea. I have been 
told that they have melted the statue of our lady, in order to 
make pennies. You understand; is it not so?” 

' “No: but this talk is all useless.” 

“What,” replied the baker, briskly, “don’t you understand, 
you who are such enlightened people, that I wished to’ possess 
some of the new pennies, in order to have the occasional plea- 
sure of giving a fillip to what has been the body of Louis XYI ? 
I always fancy that I. could catch him in the middle of the nose.” 

At this vulgar sally the committee laughed heartily, and our 
host continued with great volubility : 

“But now the history of the assignats is explained, you must 
be convinced, citizens, that it is I who have reason to complain 
to you of the calumnies that are circulated about me. I am 
obliged to refuse so many people, that I have enemies on all 
sides. Would you believe it? They have even gone so far 
as to say, that my bread does not contain one fifth of flour, 
and as I also sell wine, they have added that three persons 
.were taken seriously ill from having drunk a glass with me. 
Well, citizens, allow me to profit by this happy chance of your 
presence here to give the lie to these calumnies. You owe 
this to justice, — you must now taste my bread and wine, and I 
consent to forfeit my head if you find any reason to dislike me 
on account of the quality.” 

Whilst saying this, the baker had covered his counter with 
a clean white table-cloth, and then placed upon it a dozen 
bottles of wine, a ham of appetizing aspect, and several golden- 
crusted loaves. The members of the committee appeared to 
watch these proceedings with considerable satisfaction; at 
length one of them addressing the president**— 


44 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ Citizen,” said he, “ I know that eating out of regular hours 
is injurious to the health; but certainly, we owe everything to 
justice, and I think it is our duty to ascertain whether the citi- 
zen baker has been calumniated, or whether he is supplying 
bread that may be hurtful to the public health.” 

“It is our duty,” said the president; and all the revolution- 
ary committee seated themselves at the counter. 

Two hours after, the president, in a thick clammy voice, 
gave the signal for a retreat, and declared, as he staggered out 
of the shop, that the baker was a good citizen, and had been 
unjustly calumniated. 

The next day, at an early hour, the battalion was on the 
road. Our last rendezvous of the day was at Yienne, in Dau- 
phine. We arrived very late in the city; and as my comrade 
and I were harassed with fatigue, we hastened to the quar- 
ters indicated in our billet. 

“ I hope,” said Anselme, during our walk, “ that we are about 
to be received with open arms, and enjoy a genuine hospitality.” 

“Are the Dauphinese, then, so very hospitable?” 

“What! Don’t you know the complaint of the Wandering j 
Jew? Why, everybody knows that that indefatigable and im- 
mortal walker passed through here in 1767, and that — 

‘The fat and greasy citizens 
Of old Yienne in Dauphin^, 

With more good humor than good sense 
Wanted to talk with him ; but he, <fcc., <fcc.* 

“But look ! If I am not mistaken we are arrived at our des- 
tination.” We stopped before the house mentioned in our bil- 
let, and rung the bell gently. Nothing stirred. “ I think j 
they have not heard us,” said Anselme, giving another and 
stronger pull at the bell handle. 

“Perhaps they are not willing to receive us.” 


A COOL EXCEPTION. 


45 


“ Ah, my dear friend, can you thus calumniate the inhabi- 
tants of Vienne. Do n’t you know that the Wandering Jew 
formally states, that the citizens of Vienne in Dauphine are of 
a very good-natured temperament ? ” 

“ In the meantime they do n’t hurry themselves to open the 
door for us.” 

“They certainly have not heard us; I will ring again.” 
This time Anselme pulled the bell wire with such violence that 
the handle remained in his hand. Five minutes passed in pro- 
found silence ; no sounds proceeded from the interior of the 
house. 

“Well,” said I to the old monk, “what do you think of this 
negative reception ? The Viennese enjoy, perhaps, in regard 
to character, an undeserved reputation ! ” 

“Impossible. The Jew is precise in this respect ! He says — 
‘of a good-natured temperament.’ The construction is very 
plain, and leaves nothing to wish for. Our future hosts must 
be asleep. I will wake them.” Here he cast his eyes about 
him, and perceiving a stone-mark* pulled up, weighing about 
two hundred pounds. “This will do the business,” said he; 
“ this flint will enable me to make them hear.” 

The old monk then flung the stone-mark against the door, 
which trembled on its hinges, but was not broken open. 

Almost at the same moment, an old woman appeared at a 
window of the first story, and demanded, in a voice in which 
anger and fear were mingled in equal doses, what we wanted. 

“We are furnished with a billet, my amiable citizen,” an- 
swered Anselme quickly. 

“In that case you may go your way, for we have not a bed 
in the whole house to offer you,” said the old woman. 

“We are accustomed to sleep upon the bare ground, dear 
lady,” answered my companion; “so, if you will give us in 


A boundary stone. 


46 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


exchange for the bed to which we have a right, a decent sup- 
per, the matter is easily arranged.” 

“ We have lodged troops all this week, and our cellars as 
well as our store-rooms are empty, citizen. You will not find 
in all our house an ounce of bread. But if you wish me to 
point out the address of a rich proprietor, who will make it a 
pleasure to receive you and treat you well, I am at your com- 
mand, — that ’s all I can do for you.” 

“ What do you think of that, comrade ? ” said Anselme. 
“ Shall we take this address ? ” 

“ Do as you think proper.” 

“ Then give us this address, citizen ; and make haste, for I 
am dying of hunger.” 

The old woman obeyed, and then shut up her window pre- 
cipitately, wishing us good luck. 

“Come,” said Anselme, with a sigh, “we shall sup late to- 
day; but if we sup at last, it will not be quite so bad; let’s 
push on.” 

My comrade then taking the stone, which he had used with 
so much success, put it under his arm, and signed to me to fol- 
low him. 

“ Are you going to carry that stone with you, Anselme,” 
said I, “ what ’s the use of it ? Are not the citizens of Vienne 
of a very good-natural temperament ? ” 

“My dear friend,” answered he, “I am sinking with inani- 
tion, and I am not sorry to take this precaution. As to the 
Viennese citizens, I don’t know what to think of them. This 
flint is easy to carry, and I shall keep it.” 

On reaching the new house to which the old woman had 
directed us, all that we obtained was a fresh address. 

“If they mock us again this time, I’ll hunt up the mayor of 
the city, and stir him up to some purpose; ” said Anselme 
furiously. 

Five minutes later, a third refusal which we received so 


A KNOCK-DOWN ARGUMENT. 


47 


much exasperated my companion, that he decided to accom- 
plish his threat. We went to the house of the mayor. 

“Come, Anselme, calm yourself,” said I to the old monk, 
who walked so rapidly that I had some trouble to keep up 
with him. “ What ’s the use of being angry ? ” 

“I shall not agree to calm myself till after supper,” an- 
swered he, more and more furious. We soon arrived at the 
door of the mayor’s house. 

“Wait, I ’ll ring,” said I to Anselme; but he held me back 
by the arm. 

“No,” answered he, “that act of condescension is unworthy 
of us ! A triumphant entry can alone redress us for the refusal 
we have met with. Let me ring! ” 

Seizing with both hands the stone which he had brought, 
my comrade took his aim, and flung it with frightful violence 
against the house door; then, before any person had time to 
come, he repeated the attack impetuously, and the door fell in 
with a crash. 

“Ah ! ” said he with an air of triumph, “ the breach is open. 
To the kitchen ! Alexis, to the kitchen ! ” 

The appearance of a man, girded with a tri-colored scarf, 
and with alarm depicted in his countenance, moderated the 
warmth of my companion. Without giving the mayor, — for it 
was he, — time to speak, “Citizen,” said he, “thy commissaries 
mock us, and I have not yet supped. I am mildness personified, 
in general ; but may I be guillotined this instant, if I do n’t 
set fire to your house, if you attempt to refuse us supper and 
bed.” 

“I beg pardon, in the name of my commissaries,” said the 
mayor, “but if you knew what a horrible position they are 
placed in, your Warlike bowels would be moved. Since the 
troops have plowed up the country, they have been so laid under 
contribution, that I do not exaggerate when I assure you that 
fully half the population find themselves reduced to an ounce 


48 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


and a half of bread per day for their whole support. But do n’t 
make yourself uneasy, — I shall instantly have supper provided 
for you.” 

“That’s something; but a bed?” 

“Although my wife is at the eve of her confinement, she is 
about to rise and yield hers to you. As to my own, it is hardly 
necessary to add, that it is at your service.” 

“Is your wife near her confinement?” interrupted Anselme; 
“then she has need of repose, so do not disturb her. We are 
not cannibals. But have you not spoken of a certain supper ? ” 

“It will be ready instantly! Come in.” 

At the sight of a substantial repast -which was brought to 
us, the brow of my companion became quite cleared, and turn- 
ing toward me, — “Ah well!” said he, “the report of the Wan- 
dering Jew is not wholly void of truth. The citizens of Vienne 
in Dauphine are of a very good-natured temperament.” 

“When one breaks open the doors of their houses?” 

“ In fact I must admit, that without my expedient of the big 
stone, w r e ran a great risk of going to bed fasting, with the 
stars for a canopy.” 

Our repast being finished, — and with Anselme, a repast only 
terminated when there remained nothing on the table but the 
cloth, we begged the mayor to show us to the place where we 
were to pass the night, and, exhausted with fatigue, retired to 
rest. 


CHAPTER II. 


Arrive at Roussillon — Free Quarters — Am quartered on a Nobleman — Cavalier 
Reception — Flunkey Valor — True Nobility — The domestic Home of an 
Aristocrat in Revolutionary Times — I live in Clover — Confidences of my Host 
— Arrive at Valence — The one-eyed Tailor and the Guillotine — The Registrar 
of Montemilan — His great Peril — Anselme saves him — His Gratitude — Ar- 
rive at Orange — A prosperous Butcher — The Old Royalist — Military Orgies 
— Throwing off the Mask — I am made Serjeant, and then Adjutant — Scene in 
a Cabaret — A double Duel — M. Marcotte of Avignon — Pistache Carotte. 

The next morning we hastened to join our battalion, which 
had formed in rank upon the square. During the whole time 
our march lasted, that is to say, till we reached Roussillon, 
which is about four leagues from Yienne, we saw only a bleak 
and barren country. 

On the arrival of the battalion at Roussillon, our commander 
found orders from the superior authority, which directed him 
to distribute us in garrison in the neighboring villages and 
' towns. This news, which afforded to my companions the pros- 
pect of marauding and emoluments, was received by most of 
them, if not all, with great pleasure. As for myself, it dis- 
mayed me. I had made up my mind that I was to go and 
fight on the frontier, and I could not reconcile myself to the 
idea of being employed as an instrument of vengeance on the 
inhabitants. However, it was necessary to obey. At the same 
time I determined to exercise extreme moderation in the accom- 
plishment^ my instructions. 

The next morning I was directed to a hut about a musket 
shot distant from Roussillon, of which I was to take possession. 
I did so; but finding, after a stay of a few days, that my 
presence was an unbearable tax upon the exceeding poverty of 


50 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


my host, I resolved to seek fresh quarters. One morning I 
saw the mayor of the town passing my door and resolved tcq 
avail myself of the occasion to accomplish my project. Accost- 
ing the municipal officer, “ Citizen,” said I, “ I wish to speak to 
you; I am but a corporal, it is true; but I inform you, that my I 
cousin-german is one of the convention. Now, I coifle to the j 
fact,—” 

“Your uniform alone is enough to procure you my good! 
offices, citizen soldier;” answered the mayor. 

“What I demand, is a matter of justice only: I desire that 
you find me another lodging; and, — understand us well,- — I 
desire that it may be at the house of a rich man, or, at least, j 
one in easy circumstances, that my presence may not cause j 
him sacrifices beyond his means.” 

The mayor reflected for some seconds, then fixing his eyes 
upon me “Are you courageous, citizen ? ” asked he at last. 

I answered coolly, “I am a Frenchman and bear the uniform 
of the republic.” ! 

“ Then follow me, I am going to give you new quarters.” 

“Very well, a-nd at whose house?” 

^ “At the house of the citizen Pierry; the ex-baron of, I no 
longer know what.” 

“Ah, I understand you ! But how is it this baron has not 
emigrated ? ” 

“Why should he fly, if his conscience reproaches him in 
nothing,” said the mayor. “ Hold, citizen, here ’s your billet. I 
wish you much satisfaction in the change.” 

It appeared to me that the municipal officer pronounced 
the words with a singular look; but I troubled myself little 
about that. After some inquiries about my rout®, I at last 
arrived before a magnificent chateau, surrounded with an im- j 
mense park, and away from all other dwellings. Such was I 
the quarters assigned to me by my billet. Observing that the 
entrance gate was not locked, I pushed it open and entered | 


MORE FREE THAN WELCOME. 


51 


[J boldly into the courtyard. As no one presented himself to 
i .receive me, I struck, with the stock of my musket, upon the 
j pavement of the court, and began quietly to unfasten Tny knap- 
1 1 sack, like a man who, knowing himself at home, feels perfectly 
at his ease. 

Seeing that no one came to meet me, I went towards the 
entrance of the chateau, when a fat little man, wearing an am- 
ple periwig, appeared at the top of the steps, stared at me in 
silence, and deigned at last to approach me. Thinking I had 
to do with the baron, I resolved to make him pay dear for his 
. arrogance. 

“Hallo! man of the musket,” said he, screwing up his 
mouth, “what do you want? Who sent you here?” 

“ I am here to take possession,” answered I, mildly. 

“ Possession ! What ’s that ? ” repeated the baron, with a 
contemptuous air, — “some patriotic invention. We don’t want 
| that merchandise here ; you may go your way ? ” 

{ “First will you read this order, citizen?” 
i “An order! Is there still power in France ?” 

“ There is ; that of the republic.” 

“I don’t recognise it,” said the baron, throwing the billet at 
my feet. 

This last insult filled up the measure ; I burst out : “ Miser- 
able wretch!” said I, advancing up to him, “there still ex- 
ists another power! it is that which a bold man possesses over 
a coward ; that which I now exercise over you ! Pick up that 
paper, wretch — quick — without losing a moment, lest I crush 
you ! ” 

The baron decided to pick up the billet and return it to me. 

“Present it on your knees!” I cried, in an excess of wrath — 
“ and take care — your hesitation may cost you your life ! ” 

The baron, seeing me raise my musket, fell at my feet. 

“Now, citizen,” said I, “we are quits. If you wish to avenge 
your honor, I am at your service.” 


52 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


The only reply the baron made, was to run off, crying “An 
assassin ! Help ! Help ! ” I set off in pursuit, and entered with 
him into the chateau. Scarcely had I cleared the flight of 
steps, than I found myself surrounded by five or six footmen, 
who were in the ante-chamber. 

“ If any of you touch me, I will lay him dead at my feet,” 
cried I, loudly. 

“Knock down that bandit!” cried the baron to the excited 
valets. 

. It was a scene of confusion impossible to describe. At this 
crisis the appearance of a man of about fifty years of age, 
very simply dressed, and of an imposing figure, produced a 
dead silence. 

“ What is the matter ? What is going on here ? Why this j 
tumult and these cries?” demanded the new comer. 

“It is,” replied I, “that I am fallen into an ambuscade.” 

“Who are you, sir? How came you here?” 

“The uniform that I bear answers that question. As to my 
presence in this chateau, this billet will explain it.” 

The stranger took the billet that I presented to him, exam- j 
ined it, and returning it to me with much politeness; — “You 
are perfectly correct,” said he, “but this does not explain the 
scene of violence which has just passed. Have they failed in 
attention to you ? Have you reason to complain of my 
people ? ” 

By this question I found that I had grossly deceived myself 
in taking the fat little man with the wig, for the master of the 
chateau, and that that title belonged to the new comer. 

“Yes, citizen,” answered I, “they wished, in fact, to insult 
me ; but as my redress has exceeded the offence, I do not 
complain.” 

“Your conduct is inexcusable!” cried he, addressing the do- 
mestics, who, trembling and confused, dared not lift their eyes. 
“The uniform of a French soldier, has a right to the respect of 


THE RIGHT MAN AT LAST. 


53 


all. And hospitality is one of those sacred duties which we 
ought always to exercise. Thank this soldier for his gener- 
osity, which prevents me from giving up the names of the 
offenders.” 

The confused domestics immediately stammered out excuses 
to me, but I stopped them by a motion of my hand. 

“If you will follow me, I will myself conduct you to your 
| room,” said the unknown to me. I bowed, in sign of acquies- 
cence and thanks, and followed my guide. Immediately after 
I was installed in an apartment magnificently furnished, the 
windows of which looked all over the park. 

“You will find here all you want for your toilet,” said my 
conductor. “For the rest, if you want anything, you will only 
have to ring ; the servants are at your command.” 

“Truly, Monsieur Le Baron,” answered I, “I don’t know 
how to thank you for your graceful complaisance. It is im- 
possible to exercise hospitality in a more noble manner.” 

“ I have more reason to thank you for this title of baron 
which, from pure courtesy and good breeding, you have just 
given me,” said he, smiling. “ But dinner will be ready in 
half an hour; I will take care to have you called when we sit 
down to table, — for I hope you will do us the honor of sharing 
our humble ordinary. Au revoir.” 
i I had finished dressing, when the baron himself came to 
announce that dinner was about to be served up. I followed 
him to a magnificent gothic dining-room. Almost at the same 
; instant the folding doors opened, and a valet announced “ Mon- 
sieur Le Marquis, M. Le Chevalier, Mes Demoiselles, M« 
L’Abbe. One may guess with what curiosity my attention 
was directed towards these new comers. The first who en- 
tered, whom the valet called “ the marquis,” was a stout and 
handsome old man, with bushy, white moustachios, and a mar- 
tial air. The chevalier, a youth of sixteen or seventeen years, 
presented nothing remarkable in his person ; he wore a court 


54 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


dress of the latest fashion. The two young ladies, -who entered [ 
after the chevalier, might be thirteen or fourteen years old. 
The Abbe was a fat stubby man, with a ruddy insignificant 
face, the type of his fraternity. The baron, before sitting down I 
to the table, presented me to the guests. Scarcely wei% we 
seated, when a swarm of valets invaded the dining-room, andi 
set about serving us. 

After dinner, when the Abbe had returned thanks, my host 
proposed to take me with him a tour of the park ; I accepted j 
his offer. Our conversation touched in nothing upon the events 
of the day. He incidentally informed me, that he had served 
thirty years in the cavalry regiment of Royal- Champagne, and 
that he retained an agreeable recollection of his military career. ; 

I felt a strong desire to interrogate him, but politeness re- 
strained the expression of my curiosity. The day passed in a | 
very agreeable manner; the old commander read to us from 
Brantome’s lives of illustrious men. At ten o’clock, after hav- 
ing had prayers in common, we separated. My host wished; 
me a good night, and accompanied me to the door of my room, j 
preceded by a footman carrying a lighted candelabra. 

During the three or four first days after my arrival at the 
chateau, no incident worth recording happened to break the! 
monotony of the calm and happy life I led. The fourth day, 

* — it was Sunday, — my host asked me, after breakfast, if it 
would be agreeable to me to attend mass. My curiosity led 
me to accept the offer, and I proceeded half an hour later to] 
the chapel, which I found filled with the peasantry of the : 
neighborhood. 

My host and his family were seated on the ancient seigno- [ 
rial bench ; they gave them incense, and offered them with i ' 
great ceremony , the holy wafer. All this was so opposed tol ‘ 
the new habits of France, that, for a moment, I doubted the I ‘ 
reality of what I saw. I asked myself if I was not dreaming? 1 
During the week which I still remained at the chateau, my 1 


NOTICE TO QUIT. 


55 


hosts continued their attentions. It was impossible to extend 
I the duty of hospitality further than they did. 

At the end of that week, I received an order to rejoin the 
corps immediately. I hastened to communicate this news to 
my host, and to thank him for the kindness I had met with at 
the chateau. He wished me a good journey, and, resolving to 
conduct me to Rousillon, ordered his carriage. 

“Truly, my dear sir,” said he, when we found ourselves 
alone and side by side in his coach, I cannot too much praise 
you for the discretion you have displayed. During the fifteen 
days that you have lived amongst us, you must have exercised 
great strength of mind to repress your curiosity. Ask me now 
for any explanation you wish for and I am ready to answer 
you.” 

“ Then, will you explain to me, how it happens that in a 
general revolution, when the least return to the past is a thing 
considered and punished as a crime, you have not affected the 
slightest change in your, mode of life ; that you keep your ser- 
vants in livery, your Abbe in Cassock; that you bear your title, 
and celebrate mass in public in the chapel of your chateau ? 
These things are inexplicable to me.” 

“ They are, however, very easily explained. The extreme 
freedom of acfron which I enjoy at this moment, is the fruit of 
my past life. I have always been kind to everybody, and 
above all, to my vassals. Here’s the fact, in a few words. You 
know that every one of us possesses certain tastes and fancies. 
For myself, I have a fancy for pleasure and gayety ; nothing- 
gives me so much pleasure as the sound of laughter, or the 
sight of a cheerful countenance. I have, therefore, found 
gratification in the exercise of kindness. Thus, if one of my 
peasants was in difficulties, I helped him out of it; if he mar- 
ried, I gave him a portion, and placed the resources of the 
chateau at his service on his wedding day. When ’98 arrived, 
I was, at first , on the point of emigrating; but my peasants 
3 


56 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


came in a body and entreated me with so much earnestness 
not to abandon them, that I had not the courage to repulse 
their prayers, and remained. Only I took care to make cer-i 
tain conditions. My friends, said I to them, you are attached 
to me, and I to you. I will remain with you on one condition.; 
Let us agTee, that for us the revolution does not exist ; that we 
will continue out of the reach of it, and live in peace as hereto- 
fore ; is that a bargain ? My freedom was entirely successful ; 
my peasants swore that they would never give me reason to 
complain of them, and that, as they could not hope to become 
more happy than they were, they would in no respect involve 
themselves in the tempest. 

“ Friends, said I to them, you are right; for, suppose you 
were to burn my chateau, and destroy my estate, what would 
be the result to yourselves ? Why, in as much as my means 
have always been at your service, you would destroy your 
own chateau, your property, your riches, and would commit 
not only a crime, but a gross folly in respect to your own inter- 
ests. Such,” continued my host, “is the language I used to 
my peasants, and they comprehended it. In short, to conclude 
these explanations, I must confess that I have been rewarded 
for my # good sense, by a season of unspeakable happiness. 
Having now nothing to fear from my peasants, I had still to 
■ dread the new revolutionary authorities. I make no hesitation 
in avowing that I made use of indirect corrupt means with 
them ; I bribed them in short, and made it their interest not 
to molest me, or suffer me to be molested.” 

“I thank you much, sir, for these explanations; but there is 
still one question which I much wish to put to you. I cannot 
understand how you should have ventured at once to confide 
in a person of whom you knew neither the family nor the 
antecedents! In short, may I not be a traitor?” 

“If you think that I do not know you, you are in error. Do 
you suppose that an old cavalry captain does not know man- 


A SENSIBLE ARISTOCRAT. 


$7 


kind ? Recall to yourself your entry into the chateau. Insult 
roused you to indignation and violence. Now, a hasty man 
is rarely a traitor. From the moment that I saw you pursue 
my steward with so much fury, I knew that you would not 
betray me.” 

As my host finished speaking, we arrived at Rousillon, 
where I rejoined my comrade Anselme. From Rousillon we 
took the route by Yalence, where our battalion arrived in a 
very bad condition. The privations to which our men had to 
submit, alternating with the excess in which they indulged 
when occasion offered, produced much sickness. 

We lodged at Valence with a little one-eyed tailor. I still 
see the hideous rascal, with his lean and fleshless body, his 
false, restless, and cruel eye. “Citizens,” said he abruptly, as 
we entered his dark shop, “are you satisfied with your com- 
mander ? ” 

“Certainly,” answered I. 

“And with your captain?” 

“Equally.” 

“ Do your officers scrupulously fulfil their duties, — are they 
patriots?” 

“What have you to do with all that?” cried Anselme. 

“I have this to do with it, — that I belong to the committee 
of surveillance, and that if your epaulettes are not quite pure, 
I will denounce them.” 

“And, do you fancy that we would give up our officers to 
you ? ” said I. 

“You would be very wrong to hesitate,” answered he, “for 
their arrest would leave an opening for your advancement ! ” 
Here the rascal called his daughter. 

“ Ninette,” said he to her, “ dress yourself. I shall take you 
to-night to the society. I hope, citizens, that you will attend 
the sitting. But supper is ready, place yourselves at the table.” 

Our host, during the repast, did not for an instant cease 


58 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


speaking. “Do you know, citizens/’ said he to us, “that 
Valence, at this moment, overflows with fops and counter-re- 
volutionists. I have undertaken the task of furnishing three 
hundred acts of accusation. I know the plots of our aristocrats; 
let the infamous wretches tremble ! ” 

“Out upon your butcheries,” cried Anselme; “let these 
propositions alone, they spoil my appetite. If you so delight 
in shedding blood, why do n’t you take a musket and follow us 
to the siege of Toulon ? ” 

The tailor remained silent for a few minutes, but we had 
soon to submit anew to his frightful proposals. His wife, 
seeing the disgust that this conversation caused us, attempted 
to calm the sanguinary enthusiasm of her husband, and the 
daughter joined in. “Come, father, do pray calm yourself,” 
said she, taking the frightful little monster by the arm. 
“It is almogt the hour for the sitting.” And she led him 
away. 

“Ah, gentlemen,” said the tailor’s wife, when they were 
gone, “I beg of you not to put my husband into a passion. If 
you knew what he is capable of. Do you know that scarcely 
two months ago, that wretch, — my husband, — caused one of 
my cousins, the friend of my childhood, to be guillotined.” 
“And you remain with the monster,” cried Anselme.^ 

“I must do so, alas! for Ninette’s sake.” 

“Ah, your lot must be frightful, my poor woman,” said I, in 
a tone of interest. 

“So much the more frightful, sir,” answered she, “that at 
the bottom, my husband is not cruel ; it is the fear of being 
guillotined himself, that has made him what he is. Knowing 
his own weakness of character, he feels secure only in making 
his superiors tremble ! May God preserve him from the remorse 
of having sent me to the scaffold ! ” 

“ How can you entertain so monstrous an idea! ” 

“Alas, I know only too well what I say ; but,” added she, 


oh! the brute! 


59 


changing her tone, “you must be fatigued; if you will follow 
me I will show you to your room.’* 

It was with real pleasure that, at day -break the next morn- 
ing, I found myself on the march with my battalion, upon the 
road. On arriving at Montelimar, we were billeted at the 
house of the registrar, who treated us handsomely, and regaled 
us with an excellent supper. 

“Truly, my dear Alexis,” said Anselme, after sitting two 
hours at table, “ this registrar is endowed with excellent qual- 
ities. Really, I should be happy to have it in my power to 
show my gratitude.” 

In expressing this wish, Anselme little suspected that chance 
would so soon call on him to realize it. We were in a deep 
sleep, when a tumult in the house awoke us. We leaped out 
of bed. It w T as evident that something serious was the matter. 

Having hastily dressed, we descended to the hall on the 
ground iloor. The first thing we perceived was our brave host, 
the ex-registrar, who, seated upon a sofa, between his wife and 
two young children, was bathed in tears. 

“ What has happened, my dear sir ? ” I abruptly asked. 

“Alas,” replied he, with a deep sigh, “you see in me a man 
who has not long to live ! I shall soon be guillotined. • But 
let me relate the circumstances, that you may judge: 

“I had connected myself, on a certain occasion, with the 
president of the district, thinking that it would contribute to 
my security. Now it happened, that one day this unhappy 
man was pursued as a federalist, and begged me to keep for 
him a bundle of papers of great importance, which, if found 
upon him, would at once conduct him to the scaffold. I took 
the papers, and locked them in a great dark closet, which I used 
as a dressing room. It is now nearly four months since, and I 
thought no more about it, when, this morning, a member of the 
revolutionary committee has summoned my servant in the 
name of the law, to open the doors to him ; and he has put 


60 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the seals upon the door of the fatal closet, and informed me 
that the committee will come to day in a body, to prosecute 
the search. You see, my friends,” said the unfortunate regis- 
trar, “that as soon as the member of the committee was gone, 
my first care was to ascertain if it would not be possible to get 
into the closet without breaking the seals. Alas, I see no 
possible means of getting in, in order to withdraw the papers, 
which will take me straight to the scaffold. Now, having told 
you my position, have 1 not reason for weeping?” 

“ Well,” said Anselme, “I must try to find some way of get- 
ting you out of the scrape.” 

He then began to reflect seriously, during which our unfor- 
tunate host fixed his eyes on him with an inexpressible mixture 
of hope and despair. 

“ Friends,” cried Anselme abruptly, “ I have found what I 
was looking for. Tell me, is the closet which contains the fatal 
papers a large one ? ” 

“About half as large as this hall.” 

“In that case, you are saved; up, at once, and follow 
me.” 

There was so much authority in the manner of speaking of 
the old Dominican, and the danger was so imminent, that we 
at once obeyed. Arrived before the door of the fatal closet, 
Anselme tore off the seal of wax, bearing the emblems of the 
republic. 

“Rash man,” cried I — 

“Silence,” said he sternly. “My dear host, take away the 
papers of the ex-president, and get them out of sight. You, 
madam, place a bed at once in the closet, — quick — quick — 
make haste ! There now, ’t is done ; good ! Crumple the curtains, 
and tumble the coverlet, as if the bed had been used ; that’s 
it, perfectly ! — Alexis, go and fetch our muskets, they are in 
our room. Remember! We slept last night in this closet — it 
was madam who arranged this, without the knowledge of her 


CHEATING THE DEVIL. 


61 


husband. You understand? Go, run off all of you and leave 
the rest to us.” 

Scarcely were the host and his wife gone, than Anselme 
began to raise a hubbub, worthy of a Huron warrior, and to 
launch terrible blows against the pannels of the door. 

“ Here ’s the member of the committee coming up,” said a 
voice from the next room. 

Seizing our muskets by the barrel, we precipitated ourselves 
violently against the door. It fell in fragments, and we found 
ourselves in the presence of the member of the revolutionary 
committee, who, blinded by the dust, and stunned with the 
noise, fell back hastily before us. 

“ Really, citizens,” said he, on recovering from his surprise, 
“you would have done well to wait till we came to liberate 
you. I am here to remove the seals. 

“Ah, is it you, citizen sealer?” cried Anselme; “How dare 
you imprison the defenders of the country ? I do n’t know what 
withholds me from breaking your head, you miserable traitor ! ” 

The member of the committee was so much frightened, that 
he remained for some moments without speaking a word. At 
length he stammered forth an apology, and curiously examin- 
ing the closet, where of course he found nothing, took his 
departure. 

“Well, my dear sir,” said Anselme to our host, as soon as 
the officer had left us, “what do you think of this farce? ” 

I will not repeat the endless benedictions heaped upon us 
by our host. Before taking a final leave of him, w r e advised 
him to see the member of the committee again, and to tell him 
that we had left him with great coolness, and he could plainly 
see that we were angry with him, for the disagreeable and 
involuntary trouble he had caused us. Our host thanked us 
cordially for this advice, and promised to follow it; he wished 
us all kinds of happiness, and swore that his gratitude to us 
would remain as long as h6 lived. 


62 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


The next morning it was scarcely light when the drums beat. 
We hastened to rise and join the battalion. The ranks were 
just formed, and we were about to march, when I was accosted 
by an old woman, whom I recollected as the servant of our 
host of the previous evening. 

“Citizen,” said she* to me, “mv mistress, fearing that you 
may want provisions on your route, has sent you these two 
jars of preserves.” 

Thinking that it would be a want of courtesy on my part 
to refuse this insignificant present, I fastened the jars to my 
knapsack, and begged the servant to present my thanks to her 
mistress. 

“What the deuce are you carrying there?” demanded 
Anselme, at the first halt we made. 

“They are preserves.” 

“Indeed! are you so very fond of sweets, then?” 

“Not at all. It is the registrar whom you saved yesterday, 
that has sent this present, which I shall not be at all sorry to 
get rid off.” 

“That will be a very easy matter; give them to me, I adore 
delicacies.” 

“ With the greatest pleasure ; hold, here they are.” 

I then untied the jars and handed them at once to An- 
selme. 

“Gooseberries and apricots! ” said he, casting a glance upon 
the covers. “They are just what I have a predilection for. 
Faith, as we do n’t know who lives or who dies, it will perhaps 
be prudent to begin upon the gooseberries at once.” 

Pronouncing these words, my companion quickly opened 
the jar, when all at once, uttering an exclamation of surprise,— 
“Ah parbleu,” said he, “here ’s something that pleases me 
much more.” 

Upon uncovering the jar, Anselme had found fifty louis 
wrapped in an assignat of fifty livres, and surrounded with a 


A. GOD-SEND. 


63 


! bundle oi cotton. His name was written upon a small piece 
of paper, fixed upon it with a pin. 

“Ah! but that is not all,” resumed he, “here’s another 
packet. Ah! that has got your address. Will you allow me 
to open it?” 

This second packet contained twenty-five louis, and these 
words traced with a pencil on a sheet of paper : — “ Citizen, 
nothing is lost in my house ! I send you, by my servant, the 
money which you have forgotten in your chamber. Long live 
the republic ! ” 

“Well,” said Anselme, “what do you think of this excellent 
present? For my part I am quite melted in thinking of the 
feastings that await us. Truly, we may well say, that a good 
action never fails to bring its own reward ! ” 

I shall not describe day by day the halts that we made after 
leaving Montelimar. Such a detail of the names of the villages 

I and towns would possess no interest with the reader. I shall 
come at once to Orange, where, once more, chance, which had 
so often favored me in my billetings, did not abandon me. They 
sent me to the house of a butcher. My first feeling, upon 
crossing the threshold, was one of pity for the fate of the un- 
fortunate persons who were obliged, by their profession, to live 
in such an atmosphere. But scarcely had I entered the interior 
of the house, than my pity at once evaporated. Judge of my 
astonishment when, on entering the back shop, I found myself 
surrounded with furniture of the richest quality, worthy of the 
dwelling of a grand-seignior. “Well,” thought I, “this butcher 
must be some duke or marquis, who, in order to avoid the 
guillotine, has opened a butcher’s shop.” I began to examine 
the luxurious ornaments which surrounded me, when the door 
opened and the master of the house entered. He was an awk- 
ward fellow, but wore an embroidered satin waistcoat, and a red 
velvet cap with gold flowers. 

“Citizens,” said he to us, “if you are gentlemen, you shall . 
3 * 


64 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


want for nothing; I will cram you- with food. If you breed 
any riots, I warn you that I have credit enough with the com- 
mittee to have you denounced, and I shall not fail to do so.” 

“ Citizen,” said Anselme, “ there is some good in your dis- 
course, but the bad predominates. That you should propose 
to regale us in the first instance, is very praiseworthy of you ; 
but it appears to me ridiculous that you should, without any 
cause, threaten us by virtue of your credit with the committee. 
If it amuses us to get tipsy in your house, we shall not lay any 
constraint upon ourselves. If you make any to-do about it, I 
shall pitch you, with all the respect due to a host, into the 
street. I have spoken.” 

As the athletic appearance of Anselme perfectly justified 
this language, the butcher lowered his tone. 

“ Citizen,” answered he, with a coaxing look, “ you have mis- 
understood me. Amuse yourselves as much as you please ; 
only respect my family.” 

In about an hour, one of the butcher’s boys came to the attic 
where they lodged us, to tell us that supper was ready. 

On entering the back shop, we found a table sumptuously 
furnished. Nothing was wanting. Six covers were set on; 
four for our host and his family, and two for Anselme and me. 

The butcher’s wife, her daughters, and husband, were richly 
clothed. She wore a mantelet trimmed with ermine. As to 
the lace on the two girls, I easily recognised by their length 
and design, that they had been torn from some church linen. 
This discovery led me to examine the furniture, of which I 
had only taken a passing view. I found that it was composed 
of unmatched pieces, and all the luxury of the house was 
evidently nothing more than the spoils of victims, and the 
products of pillage. I remarked that the large chimney piece, 
before which we were seated, was composed of the finest 
marble, and by the light of the flame, I perceived upon the 
hearth a Latin inscription which attracted all my attention. 


AN EASY WAY OF DRESSING FINE. 


65 


It was an epitaph engraven upon a tomb-stone ! This wretched 
butcher had plundered even the dead for his personal benefit! 
I took the tongs and clearing the ashes and coals which partly 
covered this inscription, succeeded in deciphering it, and found 
that this marble had been placed upon the tomb of a young and 
noble lady, nineteen years of age, of the name of Glandered, who 
died in 1541. Such are the vicissitudes of human life! Who 
| could have foretold to the noble relatives of this young lady, 
that in two centuries and a half after her death, the marble on 
which they had engraven the expression of their grief, would 

I be torn from their daughter’s tomb, to serve as an ornament for 
a butcher’s hearth. 

After quitting Orange, and before we arrived at Avignon, 
the battalion halted at a small town, the name of which has 
escaped me. As the houses the town contained were but few 
in number, the authorities billeted four men upon each of the 
householders. In company with Anselme and two other com- 
rades, I had, therefore, to ring at the gate of a pretty country- 
house, at which we were billeted. A servant about fifty years 
of age and very neatly dressed, came to open the gate. 

“ Citizens,” said she, “I have a favor to ask of you. It is, 
that you will respect the repose of my master, who is old and 
paralytic. He is a soldier like yourselves, having served his 
country forty years. He has already directed me to place all 
that he possesses at your service.” 

“ But, my good citizen,” said one of my comrades, “ I doubt 
whether our uniform will please your master. The colors of 
to-day, are not the same as they were then.” 

“ Oh, my master is a good patriot,” said she. 

As soon as we arrived, we were conducted into the hall, in 
which sat the old veteran, stretched out in a large arm chair. 

“ You are welcome, citizens,” said he, attempting to force a 
smile; “I have directed my servant to provide everything you 
need. I wish you to want for nothing. Perpetue,” added the old 


66 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


chevalier of St Louis, “ these citizens must be fatigued ; con- 
duct them to their rooms, that they may rest themselves till 
supper is ready 

" Faith,” said Anselme, when we were alone, u this old gen- 
tleman pleases me much ; only I rather mistrust his zeal for 
the republic ; but it is all the same to me, provided he carries 
out the gastronomic programme he has placed before us. You 
know that, in regard to opinions, I am extremely tolerant.” 

When the hour of supper arrived, Perpetue came to inform I 
us that her master was waiting for us, and we hastened to 1 
follow her. We found the table furnished with numerous 
dishes, and bottles of wine of all qualities. One may conceive 
the reception given to this repast, by six soldiers, generally in 
want of the necessaries of life, and frequently half famished. 
When the conversation began, our host, though old and infirm, 
displayed the greatest enthusiasm and ardor for the republic. 
He scarcely pronounced two words, without interlarding his 
speech with the words “ liberty and equality.” If we could 
believe him, the republic was about to absorb the whole of 
Europe, and the day of kings was gone by for ever. 

I cannot describe the painful impression I experienced, at 
hearing the old man declare himself in this manner. I knew 
that he could neither think, nor desire what he said, and that 
fear alone made him speak thus. I felt ashamed for our 
epoch, that a man in the decline of life, having already one 
foot in the grave, should think, in order to save the few days 
that remained to him on earth, that he must belie his opinions, 
in the presence of French soldiers. Were we, therefore, de- 
scended so low, that, under our uniform, they feared to find an 
informer, or an assassin ! As to my comrades, excited by their 
abuse of the generous wines that loaded the table* they exhibited 
a mirth as foolish as it was uproarious ; and, regardless of the 
age of our host, they sung, — or, more properly, roared out, 
bacchanalian, patriotic, and some few looser songs. 


TOO MUCH REPUBLICANISM. 


67 


From time to time, the involuntary contraction of the brows 
of our host, and the look of anguish that Perpetue exchanged 
with him, fully revealed how much these two beings suffered 
from our presence. 

“ Come, citizen, talk to us,” cried one of my comrades, ad- 
dressing the servant, — “are you dumb ? I don’t understand it.” 

“ Sir, — citizen, I am employed in serving you, and cannot 
mix in the conversation,” said Perpetue. 

“In serving us!” replied the soldier, “what aristocratic 
phrase is that? Remember, old lady, that there are neither 
masters, nor mistresses, nor servants now — only citizens. You 
do not serve us ; you help us, which is a very different thing.” 

“Yes, citizen, that’s what I meant to say; I made a 
mistake.” 

“ Well, well, now that we have no further need of your help, 
come and sit down at table with us, and drink a glass. Come, 
make haste ! ” 

“ What ! I sit down to table ! ” exclaimed the poor Perpetue, 
casting a side-long look of affright at her master. 

“Certainly, at table!” resumed our companion; “and why 
not ? Ah, I see what it is, coquette ; you want me to offer you 
my arm.” 

“ Come, come, Perpetu6, why do you make him entreat 
thus?” said the old chevalier to her, mildly. “Come, sit by 
me; I will help you in my turn.” 

“ But, sir — but, citizen, you can’t mean it,” cried she, still 
more embarrassed. “What, I! No, it’s impossible. I never 
shall dare, — ” 

“Now, look at the little aristocrat,” said the soldier. “Are 
we to believe, my friends, that her master, as she calls him, is 
not that partizan of equality and fraternity, that he pretends 
to be? Otherwise, why does she make so many excuses?” 

“ My master is as patriotic and republican as anybody,” cried 
the unhappy Perpetue, sobbing. “You see, he has prayed me to 


68 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


come and sit down at his side. . If I have refused, it is because 
I am not hungry. But now, in short, — I’m going, — ” 

In fact, the poor creature took an arm chair, and installed 
herself, without further delay, by the side of her master. 

The soldier, who was the author of this scene, which I have 
related just as it occurred, was not a brutal man; but he was 
obstinate, and uneducated, and entertained a complacent 
opinion of his power of pleasing. Delighted with his triumph, 
and already greatly excited by drink, he began to jest, and 
emptied bottle after bottle in honor of the handsome aristocrat 
Perpetue, as he called the good old creature, till at last, 
yielding to intoxication, and almost to delirium, he broke a 
bottle in two, and raising the improvised cup, with a trembling 
hand, — “ My friends,” said he, “ take off your caps, and imitate 
me. I drink to the guillotine ! Death to the nobility ! The 
scaffold for ever ! ” 

At this infamous toast, I saw the old chevalier change 
color; then, with an incredible effort, he raised himself, in 
spite of his paralysis, to his full hight. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, in a calm, and strongly-accented 
voice, — “ I drink to the past glory of France ! To her freedom 
from the cowardly and cruel tigers who now oppress her! To 
the memory of her noblesse, murdered on the scaffold ! To 
the triumph of royalty ! To the downfall of the butchers.” 

With these words, he emptied his glass at a single draught, 
and then fell heavily into his arm chair. 

Surprised beyond expression at this unexpected scene, we 
remained profoundly silent, and the old soldier availed himself 
of it to continue : 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, “ for ever cursed be this day which 
has witnessed my dishonor! I am seventy years old, and 
have passed forty-five under the flag of France, and never 
before, have I violated my conscience. Has, then, the fear of 
death, when I may possibly have only a few hours to live, made 


WELL OUT OF A SCRAPE. 


69 


me descend, even to a lie, and led me to deny my king, and 
my former life? Yes, gentlemen, remember my words, in order 
to report them to the purveyors of the guillotine : I hate the 
republic, with all the strength of my heart and soul. I feel a 
disgust, approaching to madness, for those men, covered with 
gore and filth, who, under the pretext of governing France, 
rob her of her blood, her treasure, and her honor. I have 
witnessed, with tears of rage, the fall of that royalty which had 
placed us at the head of Europe, made us great as we were, 
and which has fallen, only by its excess of clemency. Long 
live the king ! ” 

Overcome by this extraordinary effort of anger, he inclined 
his head on one side, and lost all consciousness. Perpetue 
flew to his assistance, and, weeping, lavished upon him the 
most anxious and affectionate attention. I was much affected, 
and even Anselme, whose looks met mine, had a softened ex- 
pression of countenance. As for our companions, the one who 
had produced this scene, by proposing the health of the guillo- 
tine, was in a deep sleep; the other, a big Strasburgher, 
stupid when fasting, and completely senseless after indulging 
in eating and drinking, lit his pipe, with a sang-froid that 
proved that what had passed had but little interest with him. 
I then rose, and motioning Anselme, drew him into an embra- 
sure of the window. 

“ My friend,” said I, “ it is quite necessary to make our two 
comrades dead drunk, to prevent their recollecting anything 
of this to-morrow; or, if a confused recollection of to-night 
passes through their brain, they may attribute it to a dream. 
We must not allow them to denounce this poor old man. 
What he has done is nothing, — so I may reckon on you to 
make our two companions completely drunk.” 

“I have never shrunk from a good action,” answered An- 
selme gravely : “ besides, it has been my intention, from our 
first arrival here, to pass the night in drinking.” 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


70 



and embraced the moment, when we found ourselves alone, to 
remove her fears as to his fate. The poor woman was so much 
moved, that she took my hand and wept, without being able to ! 
utter a word of thanks. 

The next morning, when our battalion was on the point of 
setting out, the lawyer of the commune came to ask the sol- i 
diers if they had any complaints to make of the hosts who 
had lodged them during the night. I do not know whether 
any of them availed themselves of this enquiry. All that I 
could say, was, that my two comrades slept in a cart, that they 
were dead drunk, and that it was impossible for them to utter 
a syllable — so religiously had Anselme kept his promise. 

Avignon, where we soon arrived, proved to be the theater 
of an event, that was most strongly impressed on my memory. 

The following was the order of the day, which the morning 
after the arrival of our battalion in that city was posted over 
the fragments of a bill of sale of a domain. 

“ Liberty, unity, fraternity, equality, indivisibility, or death I ! 

“ The sans-culottes of the battalion are informed that they 
will proceed to-day, at three o’clock in the afternoon, to the 
nomination of five corporals, one serjeant, an adjutant, a sub- 
officer, and two sub-lieutenants. 

“ Done at the rendezvous, at Avignon, in the year 2 of the 
French republic, one indivisible and imperishable. 

“Signed, Grand Jean, Commandant.” 

When I read the order of the day, I felt a secret presenti- 
ment, that, before the end of it, I might probably be advanced. 
My presentiment was fully realised. At half past two, the 
drums beat, and at half past three, I was nominated serjeant, 
and, precisely at four, they proclaimed me adjutant. 

I was complimenting Anselme, who had just been nominated 
corporal, and he, in return, was offering me his congratulations 


MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


71 


on my epaulet, when the master-tailor of the battalion ac- 
costed me with a profound bow, and asked if I would accom- 
pany him to the rendezvous. I did so, and in an hour after my 
nomination I was equipped in a complete uniform. Seeing 
myself so well rigged out, I could not resist the inclination to 
show myself, and I entered a cafe. I found there a numerous 
company, among whom reigned a profound silence. To see 
the uneasy countenances of the guests, one would have thought 
that they were on the eve of some important event; and, 
scarcely was the door opened, when immediately the whole 
attention of those present was spontaneously and anxiously 
directed to the newcomer. 

“ What is passing now ? ” I asked of a stranger. 

“I don’t know, citizen,” answered he. “Possibly, if may 
be, the public papers that are expected.” 

“But does the reading the public papers put a stop to all 
conversation at Avignon ? ” 

“Ah! nay, citizen, it is that — you understand, — when we 
don’t know — ” 

“ When we don’t know what ? ” repeated I. 

“ Well, citizen, the events that have taken place at Paris, we 
dare not say too much about them. You see, there are people 
who, having committed themselves, in Avignon, before they 
have knowm the tenor of the public papers, have lost their 
heads on the scaffold. So folks are cautious, before they ven- 
ture on a conversation, which events may construe into a 
crime.” 

This explanation had scarcely been given, when the public 
papers arrived. One of the guests took, and broke them open, 
mounted a chair, and commenced reading. 

Scarcely had he cast his eyes upon the Journal, when he 
began to wave his hand in the air, shouting, “ Long live the 
mountain ! ” The silence which reigned became still more in- 
tense ; for that gesture and cry must announce some important 


72 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


event. The audience scarcely breathed. In short, a little 
after, we learned the condemnation to death of the “twenty-one.” 

At the announcement of this triumph of the mountain, which 
clearly explained the position of affairs, the guests of the cafe 
broke out into loud applause. It w*as but one cry of rage 
against the federalists, whom they loaded with imprecations. 
In a word, feat transformed the guests of the cafe into true 
cannibals. 

Greatly disgusted w T ith this spectacle, I soon rose, and, hav- 
ing paid my reckoning, went toward the door, shrugging my 
shoulders, with an air of contempt, which was observed by all 
the company. Not one of the guests dared to notice my ges- 
ture, or even to demand an explanation of it ; and it was not 
till I had crossed the threshold of the door, that a spontaneous 
cry was raised against me throughout the cafe. 

“ Pow T n with the moderate ! The coward runs away ! To 
the lamp-post with the federalist ! ” 

These vociferations made the blood rush to my heart. Let- 
ting go the door, which I held half open, I slowly turned 
toward my accusers, and in a calm, firm voice, “ Citizens,” said 
I, “I was going, because your proposals disgusted me, and not 
because I feared your presence. Since you appear to doubt 
my courage, I shall remain ten minutes longer at this table. If 
any one of you desires that I should cut off his ears, he will find 
me quite ready to accommodate him. I am waiting.” 

Upon hearing my impertinent challenge, a profound silence 
succeeded the clamor, and no one took up my glove. While 
sitting in silence, I overheard one of my table companions say 
to another, “ Faith, my dear Fontaine, I am anxious to go 
away, only I am afraid that my doing so may be interpreted 
by Scevola as a mark of sympathy with the federalists. 

“ I want to. go myself, Michand,” replied his companion, 
“and I am kept here by the same fear; for having refused to 
give Scevola credit yesterday, he has a spite against me.” 


A REGULAR FIRE-EATER. 


IS 


“Suppose we avail ourselves of tlie departure of this officer, 
and thus escape ? ” 

“You are right; that's a good idea.” 

This short, but expressive dialogue, confirmed my views, and 
proved to me that I was right, in attributing the ferocity of my 
neighbors to fear. Wishing to help them out of their difficulty, 
I rose from the table, and went again toward the door. They 
hastened to follow me, but their maneuver did not answer 
their expectations. Scarcely had they got half across the cafe, 
than Scevola quitted his seat, and taking Michand by the ear 
“Halt there, citizen,” said he, in a sharp tone, “we want your 
voice to celebrate the triumph of the mountain. You must 
remain here.” 

“ But, citizen,” said Michand, turning pale, “ I cannot thus 
lose my time, my business suffers.” 

“ What do you say ? Lose time? What means this want 
of respect for us and the mountain ? Remain here, I say, or 
i beware.” 

“But, citizen, I am free,” cried Michand, “my time is my 
own.” 

“ And this blow, too ! Nobody will doubt the propriety of 
it,” said Scevola, who, suiting the action to the word, struck the 
unhappy Michand a violent blow on the face with his hand. 
At this outrageous insult, Michand’s face became crimsoned : 
and, turning to his aggressor : 

“Scevola,” said he, in a voice of reproach, rt it is not reason- 
able, that, because I refused to give you credit for two ells of 
cloth, you should strike me thus.” 

« You refuse me credit, wretch ! ” resumed Scevola, furi- 
ous at this exposure, “ you lie ! If I struck you, it is because 
it amuses me. If I repeat it, it is for the same reason,” and a 
second blow more violent than the first was struck upon the 
cheek of the merchant. The guests of the cafe burst into 
frantic “bravos,” and cried, “Long live Scevola!” 


74 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


I was so indignant at tliis second outrage, that I was on the 
point of taking part with Michand, but he did not give me 
time, for, addressing Scevola, he said — 

“Scevola, you are a scoundrel — I challenge you to fight.” 

“Fight! with you!” cried Scevola, laughing; “hear that, I 
citizens! — Michand wants to measure swords with me. Who 
will be his second ? ” 

“Scevola,” said Michand, “I see nothing to laugh at in my 
proposition. I know very well that you are a duellist ; but, do ; 
you accept my challenge ? ” 

“Parbleu! Did I ever refuse a challenge, simpleton ! Come, 
who are your seconds? Choose them carefully! for I warn 
you that, after I have done w r ith you, they will have to take j 
their turn.” 

“ Citizens, who will accompany me ? ” asked Michand ; but 
nobody answered him — the reputation of the terrible Scevola 
was too menacing. 

“ If you will do me the honor to accept my assistance, I will 
do my best to take care of your interests, citizen ; ” said I, 
breaking the silence. 

“ Ah, sir, you are very good, and I thank you,” cried the 
unhappy man, clasping my hand with fervor. 

“Fear nothing, citizen,” said I; “I have seen many man- 
killers, who kill nobody ; they are bullies, who build their cour- 
age on the terror with which they inspire their opponents 
before fighting; but, once sword in hand, and all that theatrical" 
intrepidity evaporates, as by enchantment.” 

“ Is that intended for me, citizen? ” said Scevola. 

“Precisely,” said I, looking steadily in his eyes. 

'“ Good! ” said he; “ we will resume this conversation after- 
ward.” 

“I hope so;. let us out.” 

The combat being determined on, it was resolved, at the re- 
quest of Michand, who wished to get it over as soon as possible, 


TAKING LESSONS IN DUELLING. 


15 


that it should take place immediately ; we therefore made an 
appointment to> meet in half an hour at one of the city gates. 
I went to our quarters to see if I could find Anselme, and to 
procure swords. Midland accompanied me. Anselme was 
gone out, and they could give me no clue where to follow him. 
As we had no time to lose, I took swords and proceeded, fol- 
lowed by the two merchants, toward the city gate, where we 
were to meet our opponent. Scevola, attended by two 
knaves of his own cast, was already on the ground. 

“You are alone, citizen,” said he; “I don’t see your 
second.” 

“And I here?” exclaimed Fontaine, advancing with a res- 
olute look, which surprised me. “Do you reckon me for 
nobody ? ” 

“You!” answered Scevola, shrugging his shoulders; “a 
dealer in cotton and needles! You don’t know what a duel 
is ! But it matters little. The point for me is, first to kill this 
beggarly coward, Midland, and, afterward, give a lesson to 
some one that I know.” 

“If, citizen, Michaud will consent to it, some one that you 
know, will be happy to take his place,” said I to the hector. 

“ Not at all,” answered he, “ I am for doing things in the 
regular way. Michand is put first to open the dance.” 

So saying, Scevola threw his cloak behind him, and, showing 
his naked breast, “ I don’t like waiting,” said he. 

“Farewell, Fontaine,” murmured the poor draper, mourn- 
fully, shaking hands with his friend. “ It’s all over.” 

The combatants being placed at the proper distance, I gave 
the signal, and they crossed swords. “I have no fear,” said 
Michand, in an under tone, “and yet I feel as if I was going 
to swoon.” 

“ Come, courage ! ” said I, briskly, “ we are looking at you.” 

From the manner in which the unfortunate man held his 
sword, and the correct way in which Scevola fell into his guard, 


76 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the issue of the combat could not be doubtful, and I made up 
in my mind to stop it the first blood that was drawn. Scevola, j 
with a beaming countenance, laid down the law. 

“Midland,” said he,' “I will not touch you, without your 
knowing which is the pass that kills you. I will choose, in 
consequence of our former friendship, the most easy stroke to 
be parried. What we call, one, two — ” 

N “What am I to do, citizen?” said Michand to me. 

“ Parry tierce and quart — that is, to the left or right, or vice 
versa, according as he attacks you, whether or without — arms j 
— parry and thrust, as soon as you have met the sword of your 
opponent,” said I to him. 

“ Parbleu,” cried Scevola, breaking into a laugh, “ this is a 
curious duel. I like your conversing with your second, and 
asking his advice. It is quite novel! It does not matter; 
what I have said, I will do. Attention, to the pass! Brave 
Michand. One — two.” 

The hector thrust in, executing the announced motion, and 
the unfortunate Michand, uttering a piercing cry, fell to the 
ground, for the sword had gone through his body. I imme- 
diately flew to his assistance, and, raising him in my arms, tried 
to staunch the blood which flowed from his wound. 

As the combat had taken place behind one of the city gates, 
and the distance from them to the draper’s shop was not very 
great, I resolved, with the help of his friend, the mercer, to 
convey him at once to his house. The latter, as soon as the 
draper had received the fatal wound, appeared changed into a 
statue. Stiff, motionless, his eyes wide open, and his brows 
knit, his whole person presented the appearance of perfect 
abstraction. 

“Fontaine,” murmured Michand, in a feeble voice, “wont 
you come to my help ? ” 

At these words of his friend, he seemed to wake, as if out 
of a dream. “ Did you call me, Michand ? ” cried he, pressing 


DUEL THE SECOND. 


17 

his hand before his eyes. “Be quiet, — the' moment is come! 
you shall see.” 

Fontaine then slowly approached Scevola, who, since his 
triumph, Bad not ceased to jest, in an indecent manner, with 
his seconds ; but the latter did not reply to him.. He wiped 
his sword, although it presented no traces of blood.’ 

| Standing close to him, the mercer looked him in the face 
with a ferocity strangely in contrast with his habitual physiog- 
nomy, which was rather void of energy. Then, in a voice 
which foretold a storm, “Citizen,” demanded he, “is it to 
your skill, or the chance of arms, that we must attribute your 
triumph ? ” 

“Parbleu,” said Scevola, “do you think then, you beggarly 
fop, that I have been a master at arms ten years for nothing?” 

“ So, then, before fighting with Michand, you were sure of 
having the advantage of him ? ” 

“Certainly, but take care; you begin to annoy me with 
these questions.” 

“Then, if you had that conviction, it is not a duel that you 
have fought. It is nothing more or less than — •” 

“That will do — assassination! What next?” 

“ That next ! ” and two smart blows, dealt by the mercer 
with all his might, fell on the cheeks of the duellist. “Now 
take your sword, cowardly assassin ! I thirst for your blood, 

' and I cannot wait.” 

Thus speaking, he seized the sword of poor Michand, and 
Scevola put himself on his guard. I at once perceived, by the 
paleness of his countenance, and the indecision of his move- 
ments, that he was no longer master of his actions. Scarcely 
were the combatants face to face, when Fontaine, with an im- 
petuosity which betrayed both his inexperience in arms and 
his fury, blindly threw himself upon his enemy. A few sec- 
onds later, the ex-master at arms extended at full length on 
the ground ejected torrents of blood from his mouth, in 


78 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


consequence of an inward wound, and was dead in a few minutes. 
This second duel, so unexpected, took place so rapidly, that 
we had no time to interfere between the combatants. Never 
shall I forget the look of profound astonishment and- stupefac- 
tion reflected in the countenance of the pacific mercer when 
he saw his' adversary fall. His triumph appeared a thing so 
little either possible or probable that he could not believe the 
evidence of his eyes. 

“What!” cried he at last, waving his bloody sword, “is it 
not more difficult than that, to be brave and kill a man ! Ah, 
God of heaven! If I had known it sooner, what humiliations, 
what cowardice, anguish and quaking I should have avoided! 
Now, that I know what my anger is worth, woe to him who 
tries to frighten me ! Ah ! you knaves,” continued he, intoxi- 
cated at the idea of his triumph, “you chuckled at seeing Sce- 
vola sacrifice my poor Midland ! dare to laugh again, and I will 
slash your faces with my sword.” 

During the few minutes which had passed since he was 
wounded, the condition of the unfortunate Michand had grown 
so much worse, that when Fontaine came to find us, we gave 
up the idea of taking him home in our arms. I therefore 
went away, and entering the first house I came to, borrowed a 
mattress, and, assisted by some spectators, who had followed 
me, we laid him on it, and Fontaine and I proceeded to his 
house. I will not describe the anguish of the draper’s wife on 
seeing the bloody body of her husband. After having received 
the thanks of Fontaine, who assured me that, in future,' he 
would not suffer himself to be intimidated by the Scevolas, 
who so much abounded at that period in the cafes, and other 
places of public resort, and that he knew how to silence them. 
I returned to the rendezvous. 

There I heard news which, the previous evening, would have 
delighted me, but which now, after my appointment as adju- 
tant, greatly displeased me. The representatives had stopped 


A MONSTER- PATRIOT. 


79 


our battalion in its march upon Toulon, and decided that we 
should remain at Avignon until the arrival of the recruits, 
who were expected to replace us in that garrison. The sol- 
diers, therefore, were lodged in barrack, and I, in company 
with Anselme, was billeted at the house of a man named 
| Marcotte. M. Marcotte was a stout man, of forty-five or fifty 
years of age. He received us with great urbanity, and invited 
us to dine with him the same day. We found at table fifteen 
guests, and the conversation at once turned upon the political 
events of the day. All at once the door of the dining-room 
opened violently, and the same servant who had received us 
j when we arrived, flung herself, out of breath, in the midst of 
us, exclaiming in a low voice : 

“ Gentlemen, here’s your cousin, coming up stairs.” 

At this announcement, which I could not understand, the 
conversation suddenly ceased as by enchantment, and a dead 
silence succeeded. 

, “ Come, converse, gentlemen, converse,” said our host ; 

“ otherwise we shall awaken the suspicions of my cousin. Let 
us take the first subject that comes. Let’s talk about the 
theatre.” Scarcely had Marcotte spoken, when the door 
opened a second time, and a new guest entered. I concluded 
that this must be the cousin announced, and I examined him 
with attention. 

“Ah! Good day, cousin,” cried our host, shaking him 
warmly by the hand, “what a long time it is since I saw you, 
nearly three days! It is not right to neglect thus one’s family 
and friends.” 

“What would you have, cousin? the business of the repub- 
lic before all! My situation, as member of the committee of 
surveillance, allows me not a moment of repose.” 

“It appears that the infamous conspirators are at work?” 

“Always! But woe to them, we watch them.” 

“So much the better: clap them in prison ! They will only 
4 


80 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


get what they deserve ! ” replied our host, affecting great 
gayety. “Faith, you come just in time; we have been talking 
for an hour about women and actresses — that is just in your 
line, invincible Don Juan!” 

This compliment seemed to greatly flatter the new comer, 
who began to smile with a foppish and mock-modest air; the 
more ridiculous, because in person he was the most perfect 
type of ugliness that one could imagine. With the leave of 
the reader, I shall devote a few lines to his portrait. 

This cousin of our host might be about five feet, or five feet 
two at the utmost, in hight. His meagre body was sur- 
mounted with an enormous head, covered with a thick mat of 
hair, of a reddish cast; his countenance presented an expres- 
sion of low wickedness, which accorded perfectly with his 
unquiet eye, which was never fixed upon any object. It was 
impossible, on seeing him, even for the first time, to be deceived 
as to his character. I judged that his moral features were in 
complete harmony with his physical conformation. 

The sequel proved to me, that my opinion was far from be- 
ing erroneous ; except that, whatever disagreeable and unfavor- 
able impression this man had produced in me, I did not expect 
to discover in him the amazing' depravity he afterward dis- 
played. This cousin of Marcotte’s presented one of those 
monstrous types, which, too frequently, for the honor of hu- 
manity, were produced by the storm of ’93. 

Since the triumph of the revolution, this man had exchanged 
his Christian names of Eugene Edward, for those of Pistache 
Carotte, which were derived from the new republican calendar. 
Scarcely was he seated at the table, when he engrossed the 
whole conversation, and no one was heard to speak but himself. 
He began by railing at the federalists, sung the praises of the 
mountain, and concluded by giving a rapid and scandalous 
sketch of the principal families of the city. I remarked that 
no one found favor in his eyes ; he reviled them all. 


HOLD A CANDLE TO THE DEVIL. 


81 


ft. 

“What you are saying is not generous, cousin,” cried our 
host, affecting to smile; “for, in fact, with all these women 
whom you accuse, the crime of most of them consists actually, 
in not being insensible to your merits. Really, you are a mis- 
chievous fellow ! ” 

I saw by his leering look, that this reproach very agreeably 
flattered the little monster’s self love. 

“Faith,” answered he, with the greatest impudence, “I find 
that the virtue and reputation of the women are not such sacred 
things, but that they can, after a good dinner, offer them to 
their friends, by way of desert.” 

“ Take care, cousin ; in thus following the example which 
your predecessors, Richelieu and Lauzan, have bequeathed to 
you, you will end by passing for an aristocrat.” 

“ Oh ! as to that, there is no danger. My patriotism is too 
well appreciated, for them to think of placing me in the list of 
all these court fops.” 

“What,” said I, in a low voice to Anselme, “can it be 
possible, that this hideous monster has ever been able to at- 
tract the attention and affections of any woman ? Ours is a 
melancholy and singular epoch, in which we cannot discrimi- 
nate between beauty and deformity, vice and virtue.” 

“This Pistache,” answered Anselme, in the same tone, 
“ seems a knave, full of perversity and cunning. I have not 
been a monk ten years of my life without knowing a little of 
hypocrisy and impudence; take my advice, and if he offers 
you his friendship, do not refuse it. You will find him a cu- 
rious subject to analyze, and may, besides, turn the intimacy 
to the advantage of the unfortunate.” 

“ You may be right,” said I, — “ leading a wandering life, I 
have no reason to fear the continuance of a disgraceful con- 
nection. I will accept the confidence of Pistache, if it is 
offered.” 

My resolution once formed, I frequently addressed myself 


82 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


to my future friend. This condescension on my part, seemed 
to flatter him so much the more, as he had seen me observe^ 
an obstinate silence toward the other guests. 

“ Citizen,” said he, when we quitted the table, “ I hope, if 
your battalion remains some time in garrison in this city, 
that we shall often see each other. Come and dine with me; 

I will take you to see the house of confinement, which is just 
now placed under my inspection. There is some business in 
hand, you shall see ! ” 

“What do you mean by ‘business in hand?’” 

“Oh, that’s too long to explain; we will talk of that at a 
future time. Fear nothing, you will not lose by waiting.” 

Citizen Pistache, after having clasped my hand, prepared 
to depart, when, changing his mind all at once : 

“ By the bye, citizen,” said he, “ I forgot that my time to- 
morrow will be occupied with a patriotic fete, which we are 
to give in the city ; we will put off, if you please, our meeting 
till the following day.” 

“ I am at your command. But what is the fete, which is 
to take place to-morrow ? I have not heard it spoken of.” 

“ I easily believe you,” replied my friend Pistache, laughing 
heartily, — “ for that fete is just a surprise, which we are pre- 
paring in the city. Oh! don’t trouble yourself ! It will open 
with such brilliancy, that you will not want twenty-four hours 
notice to induce you to take part in it. There will be pleasure 
for everybody.” 


CHAPTER III. 


A would-be Don Juan — A Civic Fete — The Feast of Reason — A Mortal Squeeze — 
An Auto-da-Fe — Saving a Relic — Character and Doings of Pistache — Con- 
stituents of the Revolutionary Committee — The House of Detention at Avignon 
— Pistache out-witted, and out-bullied — Escape of his Victim — Great Nows — 
General Hypocrisy — Departure from Avignon — A Conspirator — Arrival at 
Fayence. 


After the departure of cousin Pistache, there was not one 
voice raised in his favor: the strife was, who should most 
blacken his character. 

“ My dear adjutant,” said Marcotfe, drawing me aside, “ I 
have a favor to ask of you.” 

“ Speak, I am at your command.” 

“ I have noticed during* dinner, that my cousin Pistache, 
seduced, probably, by the brilliancy of your epaulet, and proud 
of forming an alliance with an officer of the republic, has 
loaded you with civilities, and, I have no doubt, that he will 
finish by making a league with you! Now, as my relative is 
very curious and inquisitive, he will pester you with questions 
about my domestic affairs; and he might, if your answers im- 
plied any deficiency in regard to my patriotism, injure me 
considerably. Do me, therefore, the favor to answer, that 
you have never before met with a more pure and genuine 
patriot than I ! That every night, I regret that the day has 
not witnessed the fall of more heads.” 

“ But,” said I, interrupting my host, “ you wish then to 
pass for a monster, in the eyes of your cousin?” 

“You don’t yet know my cousin. The infamies which I 
ask you to attribute to me, constitute virtues in his eyes ! If 


84 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


he takes me for the villain that I make myself, I am a saved 
man ! If not, I shall be in great danger ! ” 

“What! Do you think your cousin capable of denouncing 
you ? ” 

“ He ! If he were to meet with some scoundrel, w r ho would 
give him false information respecting me, and whom he could 
subpoena to give evidence against me, I am certain that he 
would not let the opportunity escape of destroying me,” 

“ The citizen Pistache is then a true Brutus ! ” 

“ Alas ! my dear sir, he only obeys the envy and hatred of 
which his heart is full ; the patriotism, of which he makes, a 
parade, is only a tool in his hands ; in private, he ridicules the 
republic, and would to-morrow, if royalty triumphed, become 
a reactionary as ardent , as he is to-day a fiery patriot! 
May I reckon upon your goodness to misrepresent me to 
him?” 

“ I will do so. But how did this hatred originate, that 
your cousin shows towards society ? Had he any reason be- 
fore the revolution to complain of it?” 

“ You have just put your finger upon the wound. The 
ambition of my cousin has always been, to pass for a seducer. 
Now you may easily imagine, how many checks and humilia- 
tions he experienced; and seeing that his ridiculous preten- 
sions were- repulsed, with the disdain they deserved, he ended 
by professing a shameful cynicism, which soon laid him under 
the ban of society. Not willing to have the appearance of 
yielding to this universal reprobation, he collected around him 
all the men of vile character in Avignon, and thanks to his 
fortune, wdfich he dissipated with a kind of furious rage, he 
has at last become the hero of this unclean circle. This 
senseless prodigality very soon reduced him to distress, and 
he found himself utterly abandoned. His resources exhausted, 
he probably contemplated suicide, when the revolution broke 
out. Judge what must have been his joy! He immediately 


A PRETTY - PICTURE! 


85 


set about taking bis revenge upon that society which had 
driven him from its precincts. It is unnecessary to add that 
he became a furious patriot. Organizing insurrections, direct- 
ing pillage, haranguing the multitude, he soon acquired that 
prodigious popularity, which he now enjoys, and abuses. 
From that period to the present, Pistache, although ruined, 
has found means to lead a sumptuous life. As to the resour- 
ces he has at his disposal, I neither know, nor desire to know, 
what they are.” 

“ Do you know, that after the portrait you have given of 
your cousin, it will be difficult for me to connect myself with 
him.” 

“ You will do wrong to repulse his advances,” said Marcotte, 
quickly. “ The most respectable people in the city are happy 
when Pistache will even permit them to touch his hand.” 

The day after this conversation with my host, I was leaning 
upon the window-sill, observing, with sadness, the dull and 
silent aspect which the city of Avignon presented, when, all 
at once, I thought I heard the lugubrious sound of the tocsin. 

I was not deceived! Soon, furious cries became mingled 
with the brazen sounds, and I saw a multitude, which seemed 
in a delirium, covering the recently deserted streets. 

I was immediately about to abandon my post, to render 
myself at the quarter, when a singular spectacle nailed me to 
my window. In the midst of the crowd, which thus howled, 
elevated upon a table, upon which also were several sans- cu- 
lottes, was a kind of hideous dwarf, raised upon the shoulders 
of his companions, who, kicking, yelling, and gesticulating 
like a maniac, seemed to direct the movement. Enthusiastic 
acclamations followed his words. 

This man was citizen Pistache Carotte, my new friend ! 

“ Ah ! ” said he, as he passed before the window where I 
stood, and saluted me, — “ you see I did not deceive you yes- 
terday, in promising you a fine fdte the next day ! Come with 


86 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


us; it is the ex-good-Cod of the ex-scullcaps who pays all the 
expense ! We are going to have a jolly row ! ” 

Puzzled, and surprised at the appearance of this popular 
avalanche, I put on ray uniform, and hastened to the quarter, 
where I might be wanted. I found the troops assembled in 
the barracks, without any orders to take arms. The adjutant- 
major, whom I met, came up to me laughing, 

“ Well, colleague,” said he, “ what do you think of the fete ?” 

“What fete?” 

“ Th q feast of reason, which the sovereign people are cele- 
brating; they are now plundering the churches.” 

“Ah ! is that what you call the ‘ feast of reason ? ’ ” 

“Exchange it, if you will, for the triumphs of philosophy 
over prejudices! It amounts to the same thing. Will you 
accompany me?” 

“Thank you, I have some matters to finish; I will rejoin 
you by and by.” 

I was about returning home, when I perceived Anselme, 
who was turning* the corner of the street. Seeing me, he ran 
toward me. 

“You know, Alexis, that I am a good republican,” said he, 
hastily. “Well, upon my honor, I regret that all these wearers 
of cloaks have not one head, that I might have the satisfaction 
of crushing it at one blow of my fist ! I cannot express the 
rage I feel, in seeing all these ferocious brutes destroy, with 
savage bowlings, those sacred objects which, from our earliest 
infancy, we are habituated to respect and venerate ! I cannot 
express the pleasure it would give me, to be able to knock 
some of them down ! Come along with me ! ” 

“ Where will you go ? ” 

“To seek a quarrel with some one, to calm my nerves.” 

After five minutes walking, we were stopped by a compact 
crowd, which encumbered the steps of a church they were 
then pillaging. Anselme did not think of retracing his steps. 


THE FEAST OF REASON. 


87 


Placing himself before me, he set to work with his elbows and 
shoulders, with such energy that the crowd immediately opened 
before us, and cleared us a passage. We soon penetrated into 
the sacred enclosure. 

Never shall I forget the hideous and vile spectacle which 
presented itself to my view. Picture to yourself demons in 
rags, and overcome with drink, who, with blasphemy on their 
! lips, and intoxication in their -eyes, rushed with sacrilegious 
fury against the altar, tearing, and treading under foot, with 
hoarse cries of triumph, the sacred ornaments that decorated 
it, and braying in chorus the dismal “<7a era,” that song of 
assassins, which has accompanied the agony of so many vic- 
tims ! Other sans- culottes, armed with hatchets, and mounted 
on ladders, loosened, and threw down upon the ground the 
statues of the saints, placed about the church. Some of them 
also amused themselves by breaking the painted glass of the 
gothic windows. It was a noise, a tumult, a confusion without 
a name, and too hideous for description. 

“ This is what they call the feast of reason ! ” said Anselme. 

We were going to withdraw, when a sans-culotte, whose 
costume, or to speak more properly, absence of costume, cer- 
tainly justified the title, stopped before us, brandishing a cruci- 
fix, and, preventing us from passing, compelled us to hear one 
of those strange speeches, rendered so common in those days^ 
by the most profound ignorance united to the most unbridled 
impudence. 

“Long live liberty, the guillotine, and fraternity!” said heat 
the end of his harangue, addressing himself particularly to 
Anselme. “ Let us embrace, citizen.” 

On saying this, the sans-culotte wanted to throw his arms 
round the neck of my companion, to give him the fraternal 
embrace; but Anselme repulsed him with a gentleness and 
^noderation which astonished me. 

“I have listened to you, citizen, without interruption,” said 
4 * 


88 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


he, quietly, “because it might be that you had something 
serious or sensible to demand of me, or to teach me. You 
have, therefore, no reason to complain. As to embracing you, 
not perceiving what use it will be, either to you or me, and 
as you are frightfully dirty, you will allow me to decline it, 
and to continue my walk.” 

“You are an aristocrat!” cried the sans-culotte, furiously. 

“Not the least in the world! But there is no necessity, that 
I know of, to soil oneself by contact with a wine-bottle, picked 
out of the mud ! ” 

“Is it thus that you treat the people? Take care! If you 
refuse to fraternize with me, I will have you hanged up at the 
lamp -post.” 

“ There is no answering that fraternal argument,” said 
Anselme, with an air of submission that I could not under- 
stand. “ Let us embrace, since you require it.” 

My comrade then extended his arms to the sans-culotte, 
who, delighted at having compelled a soldier to obey him, 
threw himself into them, crying, “Liberty for ever.” 

“Take care, there, you stifle me,” murmured the sans- 
culotte, after a hug of some seconds, his countenance turning 
quite crimson. 

“Every one has his own way of embracing,” answered 
Anselme, “for my part, I make conscience of all that I do.” 

Although not a muscle moved in the physiognomy of 
Anselme, I saw at once, by the flashing of his countenance, 
that he was under the influence of intense anger, “ Now then, 
comrade,” said I, striking him gently on the arm, “leave 
that drunkard, and come with me, I long to be out of this 
tumult.” 

Anselme made no reply. I saw by his fixed and burning 
eye, that he no longer even knew me, his fury having absorbed 
all his faculties. Then passed a scene, which, were I to live ft 
hundred years, would not be erased from my memory, although 


A HARD GRIPE. 


39 


it lasted only five or six seconds. Anselme, his eyebrows con- 
tracted, his nostrils extended, and. his upper lip raised, recov- 
ered from his immobility of position. By a gesture, slow, but 
indicative of terrible force, he clasped the body of the sans- 
culotte against his breast, then raising it in the air, he' all at 
once opened his arms, and let him fall a motionless corpse upon 
the ground ! As for myself, it appeared to me, when he gave 
him that fatal hug, that I heard the sound of breaking bones. 
I cannot express the agitation I felt. 

“Gome, my dear friend, let us set out,” said Anselme to 
me, in the most peaceable tone, “ my nerves are now much 
better.” 

As at least three-fourths of the people who had desecrated 
the church, were in a state of complete intoxication, and in- 
volved in an indescribable hubbub, from the altar to the portal, 
no one paid the least attention to the fall of the sans-culotte, 
and we withdrew without being molested. 

Two hours after, a new scene of disorder threw the whole 
city into alarm. Those who had pillaged the church, having 
brought the product of their devastation upon the grand square 
of Avignon, had constructed of them an immense pile, to which 
it was intended at night to set fire. When it was dark the 
auto-da-fe commenced. Anselme, who, since his episode of 
embracing, had become more calm, looked on unmoved ; once 
only he seemed to lose his presence of mind, on seeing a statue 
of Saint Dominic thrown into the flames. We were retiring, 
when the noise, arising from a dispute, which took place near 
us, attracted our attention. 

“Let’s go, and see what’s the matter,” said Anselme. 

It was a young girl, poorly clad, but possessing great beauty, 
who, pale as a corpse, and so much agitated that she could not 
speak, was exposed to the threats of some viragoes. A man 
with a decent exterior, although wearing a rusty cloak, was 
taking her part, with more zeal than success, when we arrived. 


90 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“There! silence, mothers! ” cried Anselme, in a tone which 
overpowered the noise of the dispute, as much as the roar of 
a cannon would do the smart crack of a musket. “ Silence ! 
and explain to us mildly ! Why are you so exasperated against 
this young woman? What have you to charge her with?” 

“ What has she done ? ” exclaimed one of the scolds. “ She 
has abstracted one of these church toys upon which the good 
patriots are now executing justice!” 

“Is that true, citizen?” asked Anselme of the young girl. 

“ Yes, citizen,” replied she, in a voice scarcely intelligible, — 
“It is true!” 

“Is it a thing of any value ? ” 

“Here it is,” said the poor child, showing us a small relic. 

“ Why, that is not worth twopence ! ” cried Anselme, turning 
toward the old women. “What harm is there in the citizen’s 
taking away this trifle ? ” 

“We don’t pretend that that action is a crime,” replied the 
old woman. “Let the citizen tell us what motive has induced 
her to act as she has done; then, let her trample this relic 
under her feet, and we will leave her at quiet.” 

“I have taken up this relic, to preserve it from the outrages 
of the crowd,” answered the girl, raising her voice; “as to 
committing the sacrilege that they demand, I should prefer 
death.” 

There was so much dignity in the tone of this reply, that I 
felt quite moved. 

“Come,” cried Anselme, “here ’s too much time lost about 
this trifle ; the dancing is begun, who will give me her hand ? ” 
So saying, he took the two harpies who seemed the most bitter 
against the young girl, and whirling them round with an 
irresistible force, waltzed them off. 

“ My dear young lady,” said I to the girl, who had so reso- 
lutely saved the relic at the risk of her life, “ will you allow 
iuc.ito escort you to the door of your house; for, in such a 


PURSUIT DIVERTED. 


91 


night as this, it will be imprudent for you to cross the city 
alone.” 

“ I thank you, sir,” answered she, blushing ; “ I have a com- 
panion with me.” 

She then pointed out to me the man with the rusty cloak, 
whom we had seen taking her part, and who, upon her making 
a sign to him, came up and offered her his arm. 

Seeing that the child did not require my services, I was 
going away, when, all at once, her companion uttered an ex- 
clamation of terror, and letting fall her arm, which he already 
held, he seemed to wish to take flight. 

Looking forward to ascertain w r hat might be the cause of 
so sudden an alarm, I perceived the hero of the fete, my friend 
Pistache Carotte, coming round to our side. At the same 
moment, the young girl and her guardian commenced a rapid 
flight. 

“ Ah, the beauty ! Is it me you are thus flying from ?” cried 
Pistache, at that instant attempting to pursue the fugitives. 

“Stop, citizen,” said I, seizing him forcibly by the arm, “I 
wont let you see that young girl.” 

“You will not,” repeated Pistache, in a half-pleasant, half- 
serious tone. “Do you know that you express yourself with a 
remarkable authority?” 

“An authority imparted by jealousy. If you offend me, so 
much the worse for you. I despise your anger. I repeat, that 
I will not allow you to see that young girl, and you shall not 
see her.” 

“ Ah, then, it is a suspected person who conceals herself.” 

“No. On the contrary, it is I who conceals her! Oh, you 
may well assume your innocent looks, citizen Pistache ; I know 
you too well, not to have reason to be jealous.” 

Upon hearing this declaration, Pistache Carotte smiled with 
a ridiculous expression of simplicity. “Fear nothing,” said he, 
in a patronizing tone, — “ the list of my victims is sufficiently 


92 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


well filled up, that I do not require you to add another name — 
it would be a grain of sand in the desert.” 

He put his arm within mine, and invited me to his house. 
It was easy for me to perceive that he was under the influence 
of liquor, and I rejoiced at this discovery, which promised a 
greater freedom on his part. 

The apartment occupied by Pistache, was situated in one of 
the oldest houses of pne of the least frequented streets of 
Avignon. “Truly, citizen,” said I, after having mounted the 
dark, narrow, and tortuous staircase which conducted to his 
den, “I am astonished that one of the elect of the people can 
lodge in such a paltry room.” 

“ Do n’t you see, that my profession, being that of a patriot, 
I should be lost to-morrow, if I were drawn in to follow the 
example of those whom I oppose. It is essential for the peo- 
ple to believe, that in defending their rights I defend my own ; 
that in revenging them, I revenge myself also ; in a word, that 
our interests are identical. From hence alone springs the con- 
fidence I enjoy. This dark and dilapidated lodging, the mis- 
erable and comfortless appearance of which alarms you, serves 
to conceal my private life and personal inclination, as the ragged 
mantle of Diogenes served to hide his pride. But make your- 
self easy. In spite of these cracked walls, these dark and nar- 
row windows, my lodgings are not so destitute of all resources 
as they appear to be. Saying this, citizen Pistache pushed a 
spring hid in the wall; a door opened immediately, and I beheld 
the most wanton boudoir one can imagine, and worthy in every 
respect of the most luxuriant ci-devant. An alabaster lamp 
suspended from the ceiling, threw over a rich velvet furniture, 
disposed with perfect taste, a soft and quiet light, which gave 
a stamp of elegance to this mysterious retiro. 

“ You see,” said citizen Pistache, “that I am not so miser- 
able, and so much to be pitied, as you would believe. Let us 
drink to the health of my amours ! ” 


EVERY ONE FOR HIMSELF. 


93 


The member of the revolutionary committee then drew 
from a magnificent sideboard, a decanter, and placing two 
glasses of the purest crystal before us, he filled them with a 
delicious liquor. 

“ To the health of my amours ! ” repeated lie, in a hoarse 
voice, which betrayed a recent debauch. “You were afraid 
to-night,” he continued, “ that I was going to deprive you of 
your conquest. Ah! my poor friend, how little you know of 
me ! That woman whom you withdrew from my notice was 
some young and pretty grisette, was she not ? ” 

“You have guessed right.” 

“Well! my dear adjutant, know, for your future government, 
that a girl of the people, were she endowed with the most 
fabulous beauty that ever existed on the earth, would obtain 
from me neither look nor smile ! You appear surprised ! Now, 
if you knew the history of my youth, — in fact, why should 
you not, — I will relate it to you.” 

“ You wifi afford me great pleasure.” 

“When I was young, do you see, my greatest defect was 
vanity, and the love of unbridled luxury. You will readily 
conceive that, with such inclinations, I attempted to introduce 
myself into high society, to form liasons with the handsome 
and proud dames, whose elegant immoralities were no mystery 
to anybody. Well! would you believe it? these women 
treated me with an insulting indifference. They ridiculed my 
vows and my prayers, and made sport of my passion. These 
insults, instead of for ever destroying my hopes, rendered these 
women more handsome in my estimation, and my love for 
them, — a love full of fury and spite, — increased even to mad- 
ness. I resolved on vengeance. 

“ You will readily comprehend with what joy I hailed the 
first symptoms that announced the revolution; with what 
feverish ardor I threw myself into the first struggle, and with 
what fury I fought. At last, victory has come, and I now 


94 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


take my revenge upon the past. The people think me a great 
man, and cite me as a model of patriotism! I don’t befool them 
badly ! What I most delight in, is to see those proud women, 
with whom I was formerly a ridiculous and presumptuous 
clown, now tremble on their knees before me, and ask mercy ! 
You cannot have an idea of the fierce luxury I enjoy in hum- 
bling those haughty dames. Making them pass through all the 
alternations of hope and despair, I incessantly hold over their 
heads a cleaver and a smile. Let us drink again to my new 
amours.” 

The frightful monster filled our glasses a second time ; and 
dissimulating the deep horror with which he inspired me, I 
drank with him the toast that he had proposed. 

“But, citizen,” said I, “how is it that these incarcerated 
aristocrats, — for I think you have spoken of those ladies, — can 
have recourse to you, and implore your protection ? I should 
conceive that, by your position, you can do much harm, 
but not repair that which is done. You have certainly the 
power to send a head to the scaffold, but not of depriving it of 
a victim ! ” 

“ Am I not a member of the revolutionary committee ? ” 

“Certainly; but you are not the revolutionary committee. 
You represent only one voice.” 

“ You do not know the composition of this committee. Shall 
I tell it you ? ” 

“Faith, that would give me great pleasure.” 

“Well then! Listen to me. You shall see that I can act 
according to my caprice. But stop, — to give you an idea of 
my power, there is a young ci-devant , the daughter of the Ex- 

Marquis de R , known by all Avignon for her beauty and 

hypocrisy, or virtue, — for it is the same thing, — who is con- 
sidered haughty and proud to an excess. It is now near a 
week since I had her father incarcerated; will you bet a 
hundred livres with me that, to-morrow night, the superb 


A CANDID EXPLANATION. 


95 


j Amelia will not be at supper tete-a-tete with me ? Say, will 
I you ? ” 

“ Let us leave this aristocrat, who possesses no interest with 
| me,” replied I, “and return to the revolutionary committee, 

| of which you make a part.” 

“ Our revolutionary committee,” resumed Pistache, “reckons 
nine members, including myself. Four of these are absolutely 
fit for nothing, but to say yes or no; and to do this, they wait 
for the example of their colleagues. I can make them cry as I 
please, * Long live the tricolor flag ! ’ or, ‘ Long live the Fleur-de 
lis!’ ‘Long live the republic!’ or, ‘Long live absolute monar- 
chy ! * These four votes are at my service, and insure the ful- 
fillment of all my wishes. As to the rest, one of them would 
be, perhaps, a great republican, if he was not influenced by a 
rapacious avarice ; he may detest the aristocrats, but I am sure 
that no person appreciates their gold better than he. We know 
before hand the price he sets upon an enlargement, an arrest, 
permission to visit, or speak to a prisoner, or to take off the seal.” 

“ But if that is known, how can he both indulge this avarice 
and retain his place and the confidence of the people ? ” 

“ He pursues the aristocrats to the uttermost, arrests, incar- 
cerates, and guillotines with unparalleled zeal, and that suffices 
to keep up his popularity. Let me recapitulate : here are the 
four imbeciles whom I lead at will, the miser whom I know 
how to govern by his interest, and then myself; that makes 
six votes out of nine, at my disposal. You see then, in fact, 
that I am the sole and only master of the city, and that, when 
I cry, ‘Long live the revolution!’ it is absolutely as if I cried 
‘ Long live Pistache Carotte Marcotte ! ’ ” 

“Truly, citizen, it is impossible to applaud your arrangements 
too highly. Now, allow me to take my leave of you, for it is 
late and you have need of repose.” 

“ Farewell ! I expect you to-morrow without fail. Do you 
promise me to come ? ” 


96 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ Certainly I do.” 

I then hastened down the staircase into the street, and was j 
glad to breathe the pure night air. 

The next day I was on duty at the head quarters, when the 
great patriot Pistache Carotte enquired for me. 

“ My dear friend,” said he, with some embarrassment, “ I 
am come to take you to dine with me. The revolutionary 
committee have invited you to a grand banquet, at which they 
will meet to-day. You cannot refuse. I have spoken to your 
commander, and he has given you leave till to-morrow. Come 
along ! ” 

As soon as we were away from the quarters, citizen Pistache 
reverted to the conversation of the previous evening. I judged 
by his ambiguous questions, that he reproached himself with 
his own imprudence. I pretended not to perceive his fears, 
and took care, by my replies, to calm his uneasiness. 

“I must now take my turn at the house of confinement,” 
said he; “come with me, I will not detain you long.” 

The house of detention at Avignon had formerly been a 
convent of Cordeliers. It contained, closely stowed together, 
about two hundred prisoners. 

“Do you see that statue of Saint Francis there, over the 
gate ? ” said Pistache, — “ it was I who had his head cut off. I 
consider that symbol excellent and significant. The sight of it 
recalls to the incarcerated the lot that awaits them. 

We then entered a vaulted vestibule, terminated by an iron 
grating. 

My companion was then announced from within. I amused 
myself in examining the prison. I found myself alone, in the 
middle of an immense corridor. Seeing the pretty little blonde 
head of a child, who was squatted in an obscure angle, I 
smiled kindly at him, and beckoned him with a friendly sign 
of my hand. The child, after hesitating a few seconds, 


CAGED CHERUBS. 


97 


i approached me : his fear subsiding, he began to play with the 
scabbard of my sabre. 

“ Ah, my friends, you may come out — the soldier is not 
wicked!” cried he. 

On this appeal, a dozen young children of both sexes, who 
had kept squatted in the recess of the windows, appeared 
suddenly, and surrounded me with childish curiosity. 

“ How did you come here, my little friends,” asked I. 

“It was because our parents were not wise,” answered the 
-eldest amongst them. “They have put them in prison, and 
they allow us to come and play here in this corridor during the 
day.” 

“ My mamma is very good,” cried a little girl, — “ you won’t 
kill her, citizen soldier, with your sabre ? ” 

“ No, my child, fear nothing,” answered I, with emotion, — 
“ we will do no harm to your dear mamma.” 

“ Oh how good you are ! ” cried the poor child, throwing 
herself upon my neck. 

The sight of these unfortunate children made me sick. I 
hastened to leave them, and again descended into the street. I 
was walking backward and forward before the prison, when a 
mild and trembling voice addressed me, and broke in upon my 
sad reflections. “ In the name of heaven, sir, procure me the 
means of seeing my father ! ” 

I started, and raising my eyes, I saw before me, with her 
hands clasped, and her eyes filled with tears, the most delight- 
ful person the imagination could picture. “ Ah ! is it you, citi- 
zen ? ” cried I, with astonishment, at recognizing the young girl 
who, the evening before, had been insulted by the crowd on 
account of the relic, and was saved by Anselme. 

“You, sir!” cried she on her part. “Ah it is God who has 
sent you ! You may render me the greatest service, — forgive 
me,” said she, immediately stopping, “I forgot that you are 
the friend of citizen Pistache.” 


98 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“It is a great honor undoubtedly, mademoiselle, to pass for a 
bandit. Fear nothing ; true, I know citizen Pistache, but I do not 
hold with his opinions. Believe me, if it is in my power to be of ' 
any service to you or yours, I will not let the opportunity escape.” 

“Ah sir! if you knew all! The life of my father, and con- 
sequently my own, depends on the will of citizen Pistache.” 

“ And why not address citizen Pistache himself, citizen ? ” 
said a rough voice at our side. I turned round and saw 
Pistache, who fixed an ardent gaze on the young girl. 

“ Ah ! ” said he, laughing maliciously, “ I did not know 
that you had such noble acquaintances. Is this the grisette 
about whom you showed yourself so jealous last night ?” 

“ To-day is the first time I have had the honor of seeing 
mademoiselle ; I do not even know her name.” 

“ Then allow me to introduce to you,” said Pistache, affecting 

to assume the air of a man of the world, “Mademoiselle It , 

the daughter of the Marquis of It , one of the present resi- 

dents of the house of detention.” 

“ Mademoiselle,” said I, bowing to the lovely and timorous 
creature, “ lay aside your fears ! The citizen member of the 
revolutionary committee is much more compassionate than he 
would have you suppose, and will do himself a pleasure in 
protecting you in your misfortunes.” 

“ In fact,” cried Pistache, “ the citizen knows, that for a 
long time I have expected her visit. She has only to fix the 
day and the hour that is agreeable to her, and she may depend 
on finding me at home. However, I recommend dispatch, 
for to-morrow the revolutionary committee will bring the affair 
of the marquis to a termination.” 

“ Ah ! citizen,” cried the young girl, with heartfelt em- 
phasis, “ my poor father is innocent.” 

“ A ci-devant is never innocent ! ” said Pistache, coarsely, 
interrupting her. “As to your father, I doubt whether he 
will escape with his head ! ” 


WHY DO SUCH MONSTERS EXIST? 99 

At these fearful words, the young girl became pale as a 
corpse. “ What am I to do ? What will become of me, citizen ? ” 
cried she, in a supplicating voice, and raising her eyes, filled 
with tears, the expression of which would have disarmed a 
tiger. 

“ You must not lose so much time as you have done,” 
answered he, sharply, “ but call upon me immediately. I 
^m too busy to talk with you now. I shall be at home to- 
night from eight to ten o’clock. See that you are punctual.” 

Twenty times, while the villain spoke, was I upon the point 
of rushing upon him and treating him as he deserved. The 
thought alon^, that this violence could only aggravate the po- 
sition of the Marquis of R , restrained me. As to his 

devoted child, she bore the insult with heroic resignation, 
and betrayed only by a deep blush the emotion she felt. 

“You don’t answer me,” said Pistache, taking me by the 
arm, and preparing to go,- — “must I expect you to-morrow?” 

The young girl started ; then giving me a singular look, she 
answered Pistache, to my astonishment, in a calm voice, — 
“ To-night, at eight o’clock, at your house!” 

“ I knew it well ! ” murmured the member of the revolution- 
ary committee, with a sneer. “Ah! these ex-great ladies 
are all alike ; they all have their price.” 

Ten minutes after, Pistache Carotte presented me to his 
colleagues, as being one of the most distinguished and efficient 
officers of the army, and one of the purest of patriots. They 
received me with marked distinction. 

In the absence of cheerfulness, the dinner went off with 
animation; we talked only of politics. The siege of Toulon, 
the army of Italy, and that of the north, the convention, 
Robespierre, Danton, the Jacobins, Chaumette Hebert, and 
the revolutionary tribunal, were all subjects of our conversation. 

At the hour of the sitting, the party then rose, and I was 
about to withdraw, when Pistache, seizing me by the arm, 


100 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


said, “ I arrest you as a deserter ! I shall not let you thus go 
in quest of the pretty aristocrat! I am not such a fool! You 
must go with me to the sitting ! ” 

“ But I have not the honor of being your colleague, and 
cannot intrude myself into the hall of your conferences.” 

“Undoubtedly you can; we always deliberate in public.” 

Not wishing to awaken his suspicions, I followed him 
without further entreaty. Whilst the committee were dis- 
charging their duties, I employed myself in turning over the 
leaves of a large register placed before me ; it was the journal 
of the criminal processes. I noticed that the form adopted by 
this tribunal, was as expeditious as it was simple, and admir- 
ably calculated to furnish a rapid succession of victims to the 
guillotine. Two things struck me in looking over the register, 
— the first, that at the morning sittings the same facts were 
more severely judged than they were at the sittings after 
dinner; the second, that whenever they had not material 
evidence, whatever might be the offence, the accused were 
simply sent to the house of detention ; but that, as soon as 
they had obtained written proofs, they were turned over to the 
committee of public safety. Taking advantage of the excite- 
ment occasioned by a very serious denunciation brought before 
the committee, I managed to make my escape, without being 
perceived by Pistache, and concealed myself in an obscure 
cabaret. My intention was to remain perdu till evening, and 

then to waylay the daughter of the Marquis of R , as she 

was proceeding to her rendezvous, to apprize her of the peril 
she incurred, and to offer her my disinterested services. I 
was absorbed in my own reflections, when a light knock at the 
door of the room I occupied, recalled me to the reality, and 
stopped my dreaming. 

My first thought was that Pistache had discovered my tem- 
porary retreat, and was come to sound my intentions. I re- 
solved to treat him with the contempt he deserved. 


DELICATE OPERATION. 


101 


“ Come in,” cried I, at a second knock. The door opened 
softly, and a shadow seemed to glide toward me. 

“ Who are you ? ” I resumed, rising quickly. 

“ The daughter of the Marquis of R >” answered a 

trembling voice, which I at once recognized as that of the 
young Amelia. She fell, rather than seated herself, in the 
chair I offered, and immediately began speaking : “ I cannot 
yet understand how I have been able to muster courage 
enough to take the step I have done,” said she, in a confused 
voice, and casting down her eyes. “ The imminent danger to 
which my father is exposed has alone impelled me.” 

“ Forgive me, mademoiselle, but how have you discovered 
that I was sheltered here ? ” 

“ I have followed you all the day,” she replied. “ I am 
aware, sir, that my presence here is a serious imprudence ; but 
alas! the times of disaster and overthrow in which we live 
are my apology. I will not abuse your patience. A few words 
will suffice to explain myself. This morning I intended to 
repel, with all the indignation and horror it deserved, the 
proposition of Pistache, when, from the feeling of pity I 
thought I read in your eyes, I was led to hope that heaven 
had sent in you a protector for my poor father and myself. 
Perhaps, thought I, this young man who seems to pity me, 
has a sister, and will, for her sake, grant me his protection.” 

“ You have not deceived yourself, mademoiselle,” cried I, 
with warmth ; “I am devoted to your service. Tell me, 
what must I do ? ” 

“Accompany me to the house of citizen Pistache, and swear 
to me upon your honor, that you will .answer for that of my 
family.” 

“ I swear to you in the name of my sisters, mademoiselle,” 
cried I, with enthusiasm. “ It is now striking eight o’clock, 
let us set off.” 

During the long walk to the house of Pistache, mademoiselle 


102 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


R related to me her history, which was very simple. 

Her father, the Marquis of R , confiding in his innocence, 

had no thought of emigrating. But soon, from the abomin- 
able excesses which pervaded all France, he found that he had 
deceived himself, and his resolution was altered; but it was 
then too late; the highways were *watched, the most severe 
orders issued, and it was impossible for him to escape. In 
short, within a month from that period, his house was invested 
by a horde of savages, who, after having pillaged every thing, 
brought the marquis himself a prisoner. His daughter, who 
by good fortune was staying at the house of a sick old aunt, 
remained at liberty. 

“ To relate to you now, sir,” said the young lady, “ the pro- 
ceedings I have adopted, the humiliations, incessantly recur- 
ring, to w r hiGh I have had to submit, would be beyond my 
power. Had it not been for the encouragements held out to 
me by an old priest, an ancient friend of my family, whom I 
had the good fortune to meet with, and who, although proscri- 
bed like my father, forgot his own danger to assist me in my 
solicitations, I feel that I should not have had the courage to 
support existence much longer. My intention was to present 
myself at a public sitting of the revolutionary committee, and 
cry — ‘ Vive le roi ! \ for the purpose of being incarcerated.” 

“ Forgive me, mademoiselle, then,” said I “ for a question 
which must be painful to you : but tell me what has been, up 
to this period, your knowledge of Pistache ? ” 

“ Citizen Pistache,” replied she, after a momentary silence, 
“ was not unknown to me before the revolution.” 

“ What ! was he received into the house of the marquis, 
your father?” 

“ Never received in any respect,” answered she, with a dig- 
nity which charmed me. “ It is true that he came many times 
to the chateau on business. Here is involved a confession 
that is painful to me to make, but I will not hide anything 


A PAINFUL HISTORY. 


103 


from you. The last time that he set his foot in the chateau, 
1 went into my father’s library whilst he was there. The sight 
of him caused in me a movement of disgust, which I had not 
the presence of mind to conceal, and which he undoubtedly 
remarked. Judge what must be my confusion, when the fol- 
lowing day I received a letter from the miserable wretch ! ” 
w A threatening letter, undoubtedly?” 

“Alas! no, sir, a love letter! He had observed the dis- 
agreeable impression his appearance had made on me, he said, 
but he was willing to wait, and hoped everything from the 
future. He finished by adding that the times were stormy, 
and that the support of a devoted heart and a valiant arm was 
not a thing to be despised during the tempest.” 

“ What did the marquis, your father, say to it? ” 

“ He never knew of that letter. When a daughter receives 
such undeserved insults, she should know how to hide them 
from her father. For myself, this insult appeared so gra- 
tuitous, so destitute of common sense, that I soon lost the 
recollection of it.” 

“ Ah, I understand the rest ! The revolution arrived.” 

“ Alas ! yes, sir ; and M. Marcotte, become citizen Pistache 
Carotte, the most influential member of the revolutionary 
committee, was not slow to avenge himself for the contempt 
that I had shown him, by causing my poor father to be incar- 
cerated. ” 

“Fear nothing, mademoiselle,” cried I with warmth, “a 
being so vile as citizen Pistache can never be courageous! If 
he rejects my requests, I will have recourse to force. I have 
determined to liberate your father, and he shall be free ! ” 

“ Ah ! sir,” answered the young lady, with a softened voice, 
“ may God reward you for your generosity. I accept your aid ! ” 
We had now arrived before the dwelling of Pistache. A 
dim ray of light, glancing through the interstices of the case- 
ment, apprised us that the wretch already awaited his victim. 

5 


104 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


We ascended the stairs, and I knocked gently and mys- 
teriously at the door of the formidable member of the revo- 
lutionary committee. 

“Who ’s there?” cried the voice of citizen Pistache. 

“ It is I, the citizen Amelia,” answered Mademoiselle R -, 

immediate^. A key grated in the" lock, and the door opened. 

“Enter citizen,” said Pistache, “only try another time to 
display a little more punctuality, — a little more of the respect 
due to a member of the revolutionary committee.” 

Pistache, while speaking thus, stood before the door, in order 

to make Mademoiselle R submit to the humiliation of 

remaining standing before him ; he then withdrew to leave her 
a free passage. Profiting by this movement, I came out of the 
dark corner where I had hidden myself, and softly pushing 

Mademoiselle R before me, I entered at once into the 

apartment. At the sight of me, Pistache appeared struck with 
astonishment, but his stupefaction soon &*ave way to wrath. 

“ What do you here, brigand ? ” cried he, advancing fiercely 
toward me. “Be off without delay, or beware of my ven- 
geance.” 

Instead of replying, I sharply shut the door, and double 
locked it; then putting the key in my pocket, I crossed my 
arms and looked sternly at him. He turned pale. 

“Ah ! ah !” resumed he, affecting to laugh in a blustering 

manner, “I see you are in a jesting humor this evening 

you want to satisfy me— go, there’s enough of that; I have 
to talk with the citizen respecting a matter which concerns 
the safety of the republic ! Do me the pleasure to leave us 
alone as quickly as possible.” 

“My sweet and excellent friend,” answered I quietly, “I am 
ready to comply with your wish — on two conditions.” 

Explain yourself quickly,” answered he, assuming a serious 
air ; “ what do you want ? ” 

“Two very simple tilings: First, that mademoiselle R - 


I 


PRO BONO REPUBLICO! 


105 


retires as she has come, that is, with me. Secondly, that you 
sign an order for the liberation of her father.” 

“Really, you are exceedingly modest! It is impossible to 
find a more disinterested person than yourself! ” 

“Most delectable Pistache, my time is precious, and in spite 
of the charms of your conversation, I can ’t consecrate more 
than five minutes longer to you. Do me the pleasure to an- 
swer me categorically; do you accept my ultimatum, — yes or 
no?” 

“Ah, miserable serpent!” cried Pistache, grinding his teeth, 
“do you dare to beard the lion in his den? I will soon fetch 
those who will punish your temerity.” 

“ Citizen Pistache,” said I, looking him in the face, “I warn 
you, that if you attempt to leave this room, I will kill you like 
a mad dog, as you are!” 

“ This is then an ambush, an assassination ! ” cried he, cast- 
ing on me a look of fear. 

“ Call it what you choose, — but the only part that remains 
for you, is, first to sign the order of enlargement that I require, 
and to leave me afterward to depart in peace ! ” 

“Sign that order! Never! I would rather cut my hand 
off!” 

“Between the sacrifice of your hand, and that of your life, 
there ’s a wide difference.” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” cried he, whilst a nervous 
trembling: seized his whole frame. “Would you assassinate 

“We kill venomous reptiles, not assassinate them.” 

“ Then your intention, if I refuse to obey you, is to kill me.” 

“Yes, citizen, that is my intention.” 

“Sir, I entreat you,” cried Mademoiselle R , now, for the 

first time taking up the conversation ; but I interrupted her, 
without giving her time to continue. 

“ Mademoiselle,” said I, “your intervention at this moment 


106 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


can have no effect upon my resolution; will you be good 
enough to leave me alone an instant with my honorable friend? 
Our conversation has arrived at a point at which the presence 
of a female is no longer possible. Wait for me on the stairs: 

I will rejoin you immediately.” 

Saying this, I grasped the hilt of my sabre, and opening the 
door, made a determined sign with my head to Mademoiselle 
It to go out. She obeyed. 

Never shall I forget the deep and hideous expression of 
terror reflected on the countenance of citizen Pistache when 
we found ourselves alone, and face to face. Yet, after a few 
seconds, having reflected, he appeared more at ease. 

‘‘ Citizen,” said he, “ I think, that in order to finish this scene, 
which threatens to become ridiculous, we must endeavor to 
be a little more reasonable. Of what service will my death be 
to you ? what benefit will you derive from it ? Nothing what- 
ever! My being dead would not prevent the ex-ci-devant 

Marquis It from remaining in prison, or being judged and J 

executed. Now I will take another view of the case. Having 
discussed the utility and opportunity of my death, let us see 
what will be the consequences of it. First, if I do not deceive 
myself, it will produce amongst the patriots a vehement desire 
of vengeance! Before four-and-twenty hours you will be 
identified as the author of the crime. Eight-and-forty hours 
after, your head will roll on the scaffold ! What answer do i 
you make to that ? ” 

“A very simple one, my dear Pistache. First, if you were 

no longer in the world, the Marquis de R , whom I have I 

resolved to save, would possess one' enemy less. There will be 
then a chance, by putting in play all the influence we possess, 
of withdrawing this unfortunate ci-devant from his difficulties! I ' 
Thus you see, your death presents a view eminently propitious 
to my project Now I pass to that perspective of the scaf- ? 
fold which you hold out to myself. Well, my dear friend, allow j t 


A QUANDARY PROPOSED. 


107 


me to differ from you, in the view you take of it. Not only 
would they not pursue me, but they would, on the contrary, 
applaud my deed.” 

“Are you a fool ? What answer would you make to the 
revolutionary committee, when it interrogated you ? ” 

“The committee would not interrogate me, tor this simple 
reason, that I should go to it before it called me. Now hear 
the little speech that I would make to it! — ” 

“ Go on, I confess I feel interested.” 

Citizens,’ I should say to them, ‘yesterday I thought X 
possessed in a friend, a good patriot; but that patriot was only 
a traitor, sold to the foreigner! Groan with indignation, and 
redouble your vigilance, on learning the name of this infamous 
wretch ! It is citizen Pistache Carotte, your colleague ! Last 
night, the wretch, excited by drink, unveiled his projects, and 
finished by offering to let me share with him, at the price of 
my honor, the gold of England. You may guess' what must 
have been my reply, an energetic and contemptuous refusal, and 
the promise that I would expose his unjustifiable conduct, and 
denounce to you this crime of high treason. The monster, dis- 
covering how greatly he had deceived himself in respect to me, 
threw himself upon me, armed with a poignard, to put the seal 
) of death upon my mouth. In the contest that took place, I had 
| the misfortune to kill the wretch ; I say misfortune, because I 
: regret that for the sake of example to other traitors, his head 
has not fallen on the scaffold ! ’ Such, my dear Pistache, will 
be the discourse that I shall hold to the revolutionary com- 
mittee.” 

“And you fancy that they will give heed to such a calumny, 
destitute of all proof.” 

“I am certain of it; and for this reason. I will reveal to 
your old colleagues the existence of that luxurious boudoir, 
which you had the imprudence to show me last night. The 
! people will then surround your house; . and, at the sight of 


108 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


these carefully concealed riches which you keep for yourself, 
whilst, in public, you affect poverty, the cry of rage and op- 
probrium which will rise against your memory will be such, 
that they will very probably bear me in triumph, whilst they 
will drag your corpse in the kennel. But time passes, my dear 
friend, and I am in haste. I will grant you yet five minutes 
of reflection! These five minutes gone by, either you shall 
give me the order of enlargement for the marquis, or you shall : 
die. I will not add another word; make your choice!” 

“Adjutant,” replied Pistache, “I never thought you so de- 
cided, as you have shown yourself this evening! You have 
gained your point, and it onl} 1 - remains for me to act.” 

He seated himself immediately before his escritoire, and 
wrote two lines upon a paper bearing the heading of the revo- 
lutionary committee, which he handed to me. 

“There,” said he, “are you satisfied?” 

I took the paper, which being drawn up according to the 
ordinary forms, was an order for enlargement. 

“Very well, my dear Pistache,” answered I,' “I am satisfied.” 

1 was about to withdraw, when the sans-culotte detained me. 

“My dear friend,” said he, “what I esteem above all things 
in a man, is energy and courage. You have this night dis- 
played a vigor that raises you forever in my estimation. Do 
you wish that we continue friends ? I swear to you for my 
part, that I make this offer with all my heart, and without any 
after-thought of taking revenge.” 

As I had nothing to gain by making a mortal enemy of the 
dangerous and powerful sans-culotte, I assured him that our 
discussion had in no respect changed the sentiments I enter- 
tained toward him, and, in appearance, at least, I cordiallv 
clasped the hand that he offered to me. 

I cannot express the joy I felt in bearing to the poor child, 
who awaited me on the stairs, the order for the liberation of 
her father. But if the reader asks me what course I would 


AN EXCELLENT DENOUEMENT. 109 

have pursued if the citizen Pistache had refused to accede to 
my demand, I answer, “Faith, I know nothing about it! ” 

It would be impossible to paint the feelings of Mademoiselle 

R on receiving at my hands the document that had saved 

her father’s life. Her emotion was so great, that she remained 
nearly a minute without the power of pronouncing a word. 
Having received her thanks, I bade her farewell. 

Returning to my lodgings, I passed a very agitated night. I 
feared that Pistache, no longer subject to my compulsion, might 
revoke the order of liberation which I had violently forced from 
him. Scarcely was it day, than I dressed in haste, and pre- 
sented myself at the house of citizen Pistache, whom I found 
still in bed. 

“Ah! ah!” cried he, on seeing me, “it appears, my dear 
friend, that you still doubt your triumph, and do not think it 
complete. Set your mind at ease. Far from harboring re- 
sentment, I am very grateful for your conduct to me last night 
It has taught me that I must never trust any person for the 
future. However, in order to make an end at once of that 
subject, I will remind you, that I reckon upon the promise you 
made me, not to reveal to anybody in the world the existence 
of my boudoir.” 

“It is a promise that I will keep! At the same time, allow 
me to ask you one question. How is it that among so many 
persons, who have had access to this mysterious boudoir, not 
one has yet denounced you ? ” 

“How innocent you are grown again to-day,” replied Pis- 
tache, shrugging his shoulders. Do n’t you understand that 
my boudoir has always served as an ante-chamber to the scaf- 
fold! Now, I do n’t know a more discreet confidant than the 
guillotine ! ” 

“ Thus then, Mademoiselle R ,” said I, “ would ” — 

“ Parbleu, if she had remained here last night, she would 
have been guillotined to-morrow with her father,” answered 


110 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 




Pistache coolly, without giving me time to finish the question. 

“ Why, how pale you look, child ; you will never be anything | 
but a gloomy and sorrowful revolutionist! Farewell — I am off 
to the sitting.” 

I returned home, and after breakfast I proceeded to the 
quarters, in company with Anselme, when, all at once, I heard 
the drums beat, and the trumpets sound, and numerous dis- 
charges of musketry resounded throughout the city: soon the 
population, who seemed seized with madness, filled the streets, 
uttering cries of joy. 

“ What does all that mean ? ” said I to my companion. 

“JFaith, I don’t know; let’s mingle with the groups, and 
ask one of those fools who are an ticking themselves out of 
breath.’ , 

“ What has taken place, citizen ? ” inquired I of a middle ! 
aged man, who danced, clapping his hands, and crying at the 
top of his voice, — “ Vive la republic ! Vive la Montagne ! ” 

“ What ! ” replied he, with an indignant air, “ are you then 
ignorant of the great news ? Toulon has fallen into the hands 
of our army. The English have fled, and we triumph !” 

“ Are you very certain of the perfect authenticity of this 
news ?” 

“ Am I certain!” replied he. “ Can we then possibly doubt 
the triumph of the republic ? ” 

“ Nay, it is because this triumph has made us wait so long.” 

“ There, let me alone,” cried my informer. “ You hinder 
me, ^7 y°ur questions, from giving way to my joy, &nd will 
make me pass for a suspected person.” 

On arriving at the public square, we found the municipality 
surrounded by an immense multitude, each of whom kept ex- 
pressing his joy. One might have called them a nation of 
madmen. Amongst the citizens whose enthusiasm rose to the i 
most extravagant pitch, I observed my host M. Marcotte. On 
perceiving me, he blushed, at first, to the whites of his eyes, i 


REVOLUTIONARY HONESTY. 


Ill 


but soon assuming his part, he threw himself into my arms 
with all the appearance pf drunken madness, and clasping me 
to his heart. 

“ Ah, my dear citizen,” said he in a stentorian voice, so as 
to make himself heard at fifty paces distance, “ I sink under 
the weight of my joy ! I fear I shall die of happiness ! Vive 
la Montague, a bas les Anglais I” 

Not to mortify our timorous host too much by my presence, 
I left him almost immediately, but for a long time afterwards I 
heard his voice, above the clamor of the crowd ; he evidently 
wished to make himself remarkable. 

I must confess that the triumph of our arms caused in me 
a great degree of vexation, when I reflected that it prevented 
me from the baptism of- fire ; for since I wore the epaulette, I 
felt a warlike ardor, and a desire to distinguish myself, which 
I had not previously believed myself capable of. The perspec- 
tive of dragging sadly from garrison to garrison, across France, 
adding, at every step, to the disasters of the country, gave me 
but little pleasure. I should greatly have preferred finding 
myself; with a musket in my hand, face to face with the 
foreigner on the frontier. 

It was not without regret, that when the day of departure 
arrived, I quitted Avignon; not that my stay in that city 
offered anything very agreeable; far from it. But the hos- 
pitality of the brave Marcotte was so hearty, his house so well 
managed, and his daughter Clotilda so charming, that I could 
not avoid manifesting feelings of deep regret. 

We passed through several towns between the 16th and 
24th of Nivose, on which latter day we arrived at Draguignan, 
where I was so seriously indisposed during the night, as not 
to be able to march with the battalion the next morning. I 
remained in bed until towards noon. The few hours of repose 
completely restored me, and I again mounted my horse at two 
o’clock. The cold was intense, and after having ridden about 
5 * 


112 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


four leagues, I stopped at a little inn to warm myself and take 
a glass of hot wine. 

“ Ah, officer,” cried the innkeeper, on seeing me enter, “you 
should have been here half an hour sooner; I would willingly 
have given an assignat of 100 livres to have had you at my 
side. Look what a condition they have left me in!” 

In fact, I remarked that the cloak of the speaker was stained 
with blood, a bandage covered his head, and he had lost two 
of his teeth. 

“ What has happened ? ” I asked; “ You appear to have been 
beaten by some drunken fellow.” 

“ Oh no, citizen, the wretch was perfectly sober.” 

“ Then, perhaps, he refused to pay the expense of his 
entertainment ? ” • 

“ On the contrary, he wanted to pay me in gold.” 

“ Well then, if this person was neither a drunkard nor a 
thief, why have you come to blows with him ? Perhaps he in- 
sulted you ? ” • 

“ Citizen,” answered the innkeeper, “ the man that massacred 
me thus was a conspirator.” 

u A conspirator ! How do you know that ? ” 

“ Parbleu, that was not very difficult to see. I saw him 
draw several louisd’or from his pocket, and he gave me one to 
pay me. Ah ! said I to myself, here’s a ci-devant who is about 
to emigrate; he won’t come over me that way! I therefore 
took the piece of gold, and under the pretext of going to get 
change, I ran to give notice to the committee of surveillance 
of the presence of this subject in my inn. ‘ Well,’ said the 
president, 4 I’ll call my men ; do you return as quick as possible, 
and detain this ci-devant, if he seems inclined to leave.’ I 
therefore made all hast, and in five minutes reached my 
house. 

“ ‘Well, have you got me the change?’ said the ci-devant, 
looking me sternly in the face. 


A TRUE FRENCH PATRIOT. 


113 


“At this demand, I turned pale, for in my hurry I had quite 
forgotten to get the louis changed. The wretch looked at me 
in a curious manner, and then all at once advancing towards 
me : 

“ ‘ Friend,’ said he, 1 1 despise and detest the traitor and the 
spy. Why have you sold me ? When are they coming to ar- 
rest me? Come, — tell the truth, or you are a dead man,’ 
and he put a pistol to my breast. Then, as I did not answer, 
he stunned me with a blow from the stock, and instantly took 
to flight.” 

“ And the committee of surveillance ? ” demanded I. 

“ I am now waiting its arrival/* 

“ Well, citizen, in this affair, it is my opinion, you have only 
I had what you deserve.** 

I quickly paid my reckoning, and remounting my horse, 
proceeded on my route. A little before reaching Fayence I 
perceived Anselme waiting for me, quietly camped in the 
i snow, in the middle of the road ; and together we rejoined the 
battalion. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A Chase — Arrive at Grasse — Verdier the Perfumer — An Unpleasant Surprise — 
A Marriage Feast — M. Edmond — His History — Gerard — A Committee Ex- 
traordinary — Charity of Demagogues — A Rival in Trade — Agatha Lautier, 
her History, Trial, Condemnation, and Execution — The Advocate of Marseilles 
— Horrible Spectacle at the Scaffold. 

At Fayence we were billeted at a house whose proprietor 
lay dead. We were, however, well treated, and in return con- 
ducted ourselves with decorum. 

We resumed our route early in the morning, and had been 
marching for half an hour, when several musket shots were 
discharged near us; we then perceived a troop of ragamuffins 
in pursuit of a young man, who was flying before- three. He 
ran with a rapidity almost fabulous; clearing, with the light- 
ness of a stag, the fences that lay m his way, and it was plain 
that if a ball did not reach him, he would escape. He soon 
disappeared from view. 

“ Why have you thus tracked that young man, citizen ? ” de- 
manded I of one of the pursuers. 

“ Ah ! the wretch,” replied he, “ he is a federalist, a con- 
spirator with the foreigner, who has sworn to burn the city.” 

It was near four o’clock when we arrived at Grasse. Our 
entry was far from triumphant; for our battalion were, for the 
most part, in such a state of sickness and rags, that we resem- 
bled mendicants rather than soldiers. The next day, when we 
ought to have got on our route, none of the men came to the call, 
and the commandant found himself constrained to put off our 
departure to the day following. 


AN AWKWARD DILEMMA. 


115 


Borne down by privations, 'exasperated by tbe misery that 
they bad endured, our men fell into a state of revolt, and de- 
clared that as they were volunteers they would refuse to go 
forward. Our commander having no means of compelling 
their obedience, had recourse to the district directory, who, 
after a very summary enquiry, declared that the battalion was 
in such a condition that it could not continue its route, and 
that we might remain at Grasse till the representatives should 
give an order for the dispatch of the equipments we were so 
absolutely in want of. 

I was lodged with a perfumer, a bachelor, between thirty 
and forty, whose name was Yerdier; he was a generous man, 
and of a tolerably cheerful character. 

A week had passed since the battalion had rested at Grasse, 
when one morning I took my firelock and loading it with shot, 
I went over the country with the intention of killing some 
birds. In the afternoon I began to think of returning to the 
city, when I perceived some fine ruins on a hill at a short dis- 
tance. A laborer informed me that they ha"d formerly been 
a house of knights-templars, and I resolved to visit them. 
Arriving at the foot o#the massive walls, I seated myself upon 
a stone, and fell into a reverie, which so absorbed me that I 
soon forgot the dinner hour which had passed, as well as the 
distance I had to walk to reach Grasse. I was aroused by a 
rough and imperious voice behind me, and the reader may 
judge of my surprise, on perceiving two men masked. My 
astonishment yielded to fear, when I saw that the eldest of the 
two had taken my firelock from my side. 

“ What right have you with my arms ? ” cried I, in an im- 
perious tone, in order to intimidate him. 

At this question the masked man turned to his companion, 
and burst into a laugh. 

“What do you think of that question, Edmond?” said he; 
“ I must confess it amuses me.” 


116 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 

“I doubt whether you will succeed in amusing yourself at 
my expense, citizen,” said I. 

“Ah! You are uneasy,” cried the stranger. 

“ The officer has reason to be so,” said the young man. 

“You are wrong, my friend; a French epaulet ought always 
to be respected.” 

“You know our agreement; I have a right to interrogate 
this officer.” 

“ True, you have,” answered the young man. 

“And also, if I please, of blowing out his brains, in case his 
replies are not satisfactory.” 

The young man made an affirmative sign of the head, and 
kept silence. . 

“Now that you are warned,” continued the mask, addressing 
himself to me, “ I am going to interrogate you.” 

“Answer, citizen, I conjure you!” said the young man, in 
a mild and supplicating voice. 

The elder mask shrugged his shoulders, and turning to me, 
said: 

“What are your political opinions? ” 

“ I am, and always shall be, a republican.” 

“That’s no answer. Are you a federalist or a mountaineer ? ” 

“Neither; the federalists seek the ruin of France, and the . 
mountaineers her dishonor.” 

“ That ’s what many sensible people think ! ” cried the young 
man. “ Come, my friend, I think you have no fault to find 
with this officer ; the sun is below the horizon, let us go.” 

“You easily satisfy yourself, Edmond. This answer does 
not at all content me ; N and I will purge the land of a murder- 
ous sans-culotte, and shoot this man !. ” 

“You should first have warned me that you are thieves and 
assassins,” cried I, “ for then I should have avoided the shame 
of parleying with you. I now ask but one favor, that you will 
allow me to write a few words to my family ; and that you 


117 


* lt HASTE TO THE WEDDING.’ , 

promise me that you will forward the letter to citizen Verdier, 
at whose house I lodge at Grasse — ” 

“Do you lodge with Verdier ?” cried the young man, with 
surprise ; “ then you have nothing to fear. Gerard,” continued 
he, addressing his companion, “do me the pleasure to leave this 
officer alone.” 

“You will allow me, Edmond,” said he, “to keep the fire- 
lock that I have taken from him.” 

“ That ’s only fair ! Let us set out.” With that the two 
men disappeared in the ruins. 

Puzzled and confused at this adventure, I immediately 
returned to the city, where I did not arrive till night. 

On my return I related the circumstances of my mishap to 
Verdier, and told him the effect produced by the mention of 
his name. 

! He appeared so embarrassed and confused, and his cheeks 
were so suddenly covered with a deep blush, that I could not 
i avoid remarking the change. 

“My friend,” said he, after a moment’s silence, “I will not 
conceal from you, that one of the two men who have stopped 
you, is, if I am not deceive!, one of the best friends I have. 
Be good enough not to speak to any one of your adventure. 
May I reckon upon your silence ? ” 

“ If you swear to me upon your honor, that these men are 
neither thieves nor assassins, then I will hold my tongue.” 

“Then I swear. I hope soon to be able to give you the key 
to this enigma. At present, it is a secret that does not belong 
to me.” 

Shortly after this conversation, Verdier proposed to me to 
accompany him to a village about two leagues from Grasse, 
whither he was going to assist at the wedding of one of his 
cousins. There being nothing* to prevent me, I accepted the 
invitation. 

The house at which we stopped was the best in the village. 


118 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. ' 


The entrance of Yerdier into the hall, which contained quite a 
numerous company, was triumphant, and showed how much 
my host was esteemed. I also was received with great cor- i 
diality, - f 

The repast was just served, when the door of the dining- 
room opened, and a new comer, clothed in the dress of a hun- 
ter, and covered with an ample mantle, presented himself and , 
saluted the bride. The appearance of this personage produced 
upon the guests a deep impression. Pale, silent, their eyes i 
cast down, — all those who so lately made the vaults of the hall 1 
resound with gayety, seemed now stupefied. One only among , 
them uttered an exclamation of joy — this was my host Yerdier. 

The entry of the stranger had been so sudden, that I had 
not observed, him ; but when he took his place at table by the 
side of Verdier, I examined him with the most sedulous atten- 
tion. In his countenance shone a noble boldness and intrepid- 
ity. Never could falsehood have tarnished his lips. 

“ What, my friends,” said he, casting a look slowly around 
him, “has terror reduced you to that degree of abasement that 
you are afraid to acknowledge me?” 

These words brought the blush c^f shame upon the foreheads 
of the more generous, and many, to expiate their weakness, 
hastened to shake hands with the young man. 

“My dear Edmond,” said the bride, addressing him, “it is ] 
not the fear of being compromised by your presence which 
affects the cheerfulness "of our friends, but that of your im- 
prudence, which makes you expose yourself so lightly.” 

“I have, perhaps, in fact been wrong in quitting my lurking- 
place,” answered he. “ But what would you have, my good 
Sidonia? The life that I lead is so sad and frightful, that I 
could not resist the desire of being present at your feast.” 

Scarcely had he spoken when*, for the first time, his eyes met 
mine. Hidden behind a large bouquet of flowers, which stood 
at the end of the table where I was seated, I had remained till 


M. EDMOND. 


119 


then out of his view. On perceiving me he could not over- 
come a momentary surprise, but taking his determination : 

“ Citizen,” said he, saluting me 'with a friendly motion of his 
head, “ chance offers you your revenge. One word from you 
and I am lost.” 

These enigmatical words produced a great sensation among 
the guests, and all looks were centred in me. 

“Citizen,” answered I, affecting great astonishment, “I do 
not understand you. It is probable that you are deceived by 
some resemblance, for never till to-day have I had the pleasure 
of meeting you.” 

When the repast was ended, “My dear friend,” said Verdier 
to me in a low voice, “come with me, I beg of you. I have a 
great favor to ask of you.” 

I followed my host, without speaking a word, to a small 
chamber, where we found Edmond. Verdier shut the door 
upon us; and then turning quickly toward me: 

“My dear friend,” said he, “I thank you for your discretion; 
we are alone here, and nobody can hear us. 1 well know that 
you have recognized my cousin as one of the men you met 
masked in the ruins.” * $ 

“Since you speak so frankly, my dear Verdier, I do not 
hesitate to say that five minutes after the arrival of your cousin 
I had recognized him. Let me add, that although I am com- 
pletely ignorant of the causes that have occasioned Monsieur to 
be outlawed, I feel persuaded that they are honorable to him ” 

“Thanks, sir, for your good opinion,” cried Edmond, “on my 
soul and conscience, I believe I deserve it! For the rest, if 
you wish to know my simple history, I am quite ready to relate 
it to you.” # 

“If the recital is not too painful to you to make, I shall be 
delighted.” 

“Why should it be painful? I have nothing to reproach 
myself for! This is it then, in a few Words, — ” 


120 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“I claim' the right of speaking,” cried Verdier, interrupting 
his cousin: “Edmond, although I would not impugn his vera- 
city, never fails, when he speaks of himself, to suppress his 
merits. I therefore ask to take his place in the office of 
narrator.” 

“ Granted ! ” said I, smiling. 

Verdier, without loss of time, began as follows: 

“ Edmond, from his tenderest childhood exhibited a warlike 
disposition, quite at variance with the ideas that his father, my 
' uncle, entertained of his future course; for he had intended him 
for the priesthood, but relinquished that design from observing 
the boy’s military disposition. Sent to Grasse to commence 
his studies, Edmond, from a turbulent and undisciplined boy, 
became at once remarkably studious, and his progress was such, 
that at the age of seventeen, he was the first student of the 
university of Aix, where he graduated ; and he was nominated 
advocate with great applause. During his stay at the univer- 
sity, he acquired an extraordinary influence over his fellow stu- 
dents. Prodigal of his friendship, the unfortunate and the 
persecuted were sure of finding in him protection and succor. 
At last came the revolution. You may conjecture with what 
enthusiasm my cousin received the generous ideas, and utopian 
projects of the innovators. . The abolition of privileges, the 
affranchisement of the people, that touching and universal fra- 
ternity which they held out as an affair so easy of accomplish- 
ment, found in him the most fervent and devoted champion of 
our whole province. Edmond organized the national guard of 
Grasse, and became administrator and president of the district. 
He was. intoxicated with patriotism and good intentions, and 
believed in the fraternity of the whole world. Alas ! this beau- 
tiful dream lasted but a short time; designing men, seeing the 
success of the revolution, usurped its power, and trampled on 
the dupes whom they had put in the foreground in the hour 
of danger, and, in a moment, perverted the benefits derived 


A FALSE ALARM. 


121 


from it. Edmond was deprived of his post of president of the 
district; he was calumniated and repudiated as an aristocrat. 
The elegant habits of my cousin gave a certain appearance of 
truth to this charge; and the indignation which he publicly 
expressed at the excesses of the revolution, finished by alienat- 
ing from him the mind of the masses. In short, things arrived 
at such a- pitch, that Edmond was compelled one night to fly 
for his life. Since that period the life of Edmond has been one 
uninterrupted series of privations and dangers. Some days 
ago an innkeeper denounced him to the revolutionary com- 
mittee; the next day he was pursued by the national guards 
of our city, who fired several musket shots at him ! ” 

“What!” cried I, interrupting Yerdier, “was it your. cousin 
who beat with his pistol-stock the face of the master of the 
hotel between Draguignan and Fayence? Faith, I can but 
compliment him upon it, for that beggar well deserved the 
correction. As to the last pursuit of which )mu speak, did it 
not take place the same day of our arrival at Grasse ? ” 

“Yes, exactly! But how came you to know that?” 

“ Parbleu ! by the excellent reason, that I was myself a 
witness of that event. One of the national guards whom I 
interrogated, told me that the man whom they chased with 
such fury, was a traitor, sold to the foreigners.” 

Verdier was about to continue, when violent blows were 
struck upon the window sill. Edmond drew from his pockets 
a brace of double-barrelled pistols. A few seconds passed, full 
of anxiety for Yerdier and myself. 

Soon fresh blows resounded, struck with more violence. 
“What shall we do?” said my host, in a low voice; “if we 
open that window, it will give entrance to the enemy. If we 
answer, it will betray our presence ! ” 

“ The straight line is my favorite course, my friends,” said 
Edmond. “ They knock, let us open.” 

Before we had time to oppose his movement, the young 


122 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


outlaw darted toward the window, arid hastily taking off the 
bars, opened the shutters. Then, with a bold front, sparkling 
eyes, and assured look, holding a pistol in each hand, he placed 
himself before the window. 

What was my astonishment, when a single man wearing a 
ragged dress, and with his face covered with a black mask, 
presented himself to our notice. “ Ah ! is it you, Gerard ? ” 
said Edmond. “ Faith, you knocked so violently, that I 
thought there were at least twenty soldiers! What is the object 
of your visit at so late an hour ? ” The new comer sprung into 
the room. 

“ You ask,” said he, “ what has procured you the honor of 
my visit at this hour; it is the interest I feel in your safety. 
You have been seen coming here, and must withdraw imme- 
diately. Come, follow me, let us set out ! ” 

“ My dear Gerard,” replied Edmond, “ I thank you from 
the bottom of my heart for this proof of devotion. But I will 
no longer let the barking of these mad dogs trouble me in my 
occupations and pleasures. I have been tracked enough; I 
have fled often enough. Now, Gerard, you know my intentions; 
and you know that when I once form a resolution, nothing 
will make me change it. Thanks once more, and adieu!” 

“ Do you fancy, then,” cried Gerard, “ that I will abandon 
you thus? We have agreed upon a defensive alliance. They 
are coming to attack you, and I shall remain.” 

“ That’s very good, sir,” cried I, advancing from behind one 
of the shutters where I had remained hidden since the arrival 
of Gerard. “Edmond, I flatter myself, will change his resolution 
when he understands that his obstinacy may involve your death.” 

Gerard, on seeing me appear, threw himself backward, and 
drawing a pistol from the pocket of his cloak : 

“ Treason ! ” cried he, “ we are lost! ” 

“ Where do you see a traitor, and in what respect are you 
lost ? ” answered I, astonished at his attitude and words. 


THE NOBLE, A STEWARD. 


123 


“ I comprehend Gerard’s error,” said Edmond, laughing till 
the tears came. “ Your uniform of an officer of the republic, 
and, above all, your countenance, which he has not had time to 
forget, explains his surprise. He undoubtedly supposes that 
the manner in which he acted toward you yesterday, when, 
after being taken by surprise, and robbed of your nausket, he 
wanted to shoot you, lies yet at your heart, and that you will 
take your revenge for it. Be assured, Gerard,” continued 
Edmond, “ the citizen has forgiven both of us our insult, on 
account of our misfortunes.” 

“ I cannot fear, monsieur,” said Gerard, uncocking his pistol, 
“ still I am resolved not to fall alive, like a fool, into the hands 
of the citizen sans-culottes.” 

“You are undoubtedly, sir, an emigrant noble?” demanded 
I of Edmond’s friend. 

“ I, noble ! ” replied he, accompanying his words with bursts 
of lauo-hter. “ Oh, no! before the revolution I held the office 
of steward ! ” 

“ A steward!” repeated I with astonishment. r 

“ Yes, citizen, a steward ! But that does not prevent me from 
being pursued now as an aristocrat.” 

“ Truly you greatly astonish me. I should like much . to 
know your history.” 

“ It is not long. I passed the first half of my life as a soldier 
in a regiment; the second half, as a steward behind a door. 
However, if I relate to you the events that have occurred to 
me during the last week that I filled that modest office, 
I assure you, however little you may love the smell of powder, 
you would listen to me without interruption, and with great 
pleasure.” 

“ I am passionately fond of the smell of powder; relate it.” 

« I thank you ; but that would require too much time, for 
I still hope that Edmond is not going to persist in remaining 
here to await the arrival of the gendarmes.” 


124 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ May the deuce take me away, if I budge!” cried Edmond. 

“ M. Edmond,’’ said I, “ forgive me if I insist upon your 
following* the advice of your friend Gerard. I must observe 
to you that, at this moment, it does not merely concern your- 
•self, but^also, madame, your sister! Think, then, what a sad 
remembrance of her wedding* will remain, if you fall into the 
hands of your enemies ! ” 

“ I thank you, sir, for your words ; they bring me to reason. 
For my sister’s sake, I will endeavor to withdraw myself once 
more by flight, and save my head from the executioner.” 

“ In three days from this time,” said I to Gerard, “ I shall 
be found, toward four o’clock in the afternoon, at the foot of 
the old chateau of the templars, and at the same place where 
I had the honor of making your acquaintance. Then, I shall 
be much obliged, if you will not forget to bring* me back my 
musket! Now, gentlemen, adieu! Set off, and may God pro- 
tect you ! ” 

An hour after they had departed, I set out with Verdier on 
my return to Grasse, where we arrived toward midnight. 
The next morning I went to find Anselme, and to relate to 
him the adventure of the previous evening, and ask his co- 
operation in the accomplishment of a scheme of Verdier for 
saving his cousin, — which he had communicated to me during 
our return to Grasse. This scheme was ingenious enough, and 
was as follows : he proposed that a letter should be so con- 
trived as to fall into the hands of the revolutionary committee, 
and which should show that Edmond had gone abroad. The 
only difficulty, and it was no great one, was to get the letter 
into the hands of the revolutionary’- committee ; and it was to 
manage this, that I went to consult Anselme, who found means 
to accomplish it satisfactorily. 

“ You have saved the life of my cousin,” said Verdier to me, 
throwing himself upon my neck “ I have just learned that the 
committee will hold an extraordinary public sitting* this evening.” 


A COMMITTEE EXTRAORDINARY. 


125 


“ Well, my dear friend, we will attend it then, if you are 
disposed -to do so.” 

“ I ask nothing better.” 

At a quarter before eight we set off to attend the meeting 
of the popular society. We arrived at the very moment when 
the sitting was commencing. A great ferment reigned among 
the members. On all sides they were discussing the reason 
of this extraordinary sitting. The most ridiculous suppositions 
were circulated. They related to the discovery of a Saint 
Bartholomew of the patriots, contrived by the aristocrats of 
two English regiments, which, hidden in the neighborhood, 
were to take Touritte and make it a fortress. The traitor 
Edmond was pointed out as the chief of these criminal 
enterprises. When the two branch candlesticks were placed 
upon the table of the secretaries, and lighted, the president put 
on a cap of red wool. He then proposed the hymn, and the 
public sang with great enthusiasm the couplet of “ Amour sacre 
'pour la patrie.” This preliminary accomplished, the president 
called for it again, and then announced that the sitting was 
opened. Scarcely was this done, than a stout man with broad 
shoulders and a plain face, ornamented with enormous mous- 
tachios, rose, took off his fox-skin cap, and said, 

“ President, I demand the word.” 

“ The society grants it to you,” said the president. 

“ Citizens,” said the stout man, addressing the assembly, 
“they say that this rascal Yerdier is at our doors with two 
regiments of English satellites; that a great number of 
foreigners have arrived, who affect to call themselves French- 
men. Citizens ! the country is in danger ! To arms, citizens ! 
Let the drums beat the generale; let cannons be pointed 
against the house of seclusion ; let — •” 

“ Citizens,” cried the president, “ I pray the assembly to 
grant me the word. ( Applause) Citizens ! why this tumult, 
this agitation ? They pretend that great dangers threaten us ; 


126 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


is it in confusion that we are to look for our safety? Woe be | 
to him who sleeps in a false security; but a thousand times 
woe to the impious man who, without cause, would influence 
the anger of the people ! That sacred fire should not burn for 
the amusement of simpletons; like the powder of our batta- 
lions, it should burn and sparkle only when employed in the 
extermination of the enemies of freedom. (. Applause .) Who j 
dares to deny that Verdier is a traitor, capable of every crime? 1 
( Applause .) Nobody ! But it does not follow that he is dan- 
gerous. No; Verdier, far from marching upon Grasse with i 
two English regiments, flies the land of freemen; 'he is gone 
abroad. Behold a letter written by him to his family, which 
has been intercepted by a brave sans-culotte, and brought to j 
us this very morning.” 

At this stage of his discourse, the president, unfolding the ] 
letter, read it to the assembly. The sitting was about to be 
raised, when a member of the society, advancing with a savage \ 
look, pronounced the following words, which, the reader may 
well believe, produced in me a very painful emotion : 

“ What are we to do then, brave sans- culottes, with the i 
accomplices of the traitor Edmond Verdier ? I demand that 
his family be put under arrest, and the seals placed upon their 
papers, furniture, and effects! Above all, let his cousin the 
perfumer, that corrupter of the good taste of the people, be 
pursued to the utmost.” 

“ I support the motion ! ” cried another voice. 

“ Parbleu ! I rather think,” cried my host, “ you are both 
perfumers like myself ; only as I sell the best articles, and you 
the worst, I sell a great deal, and you sell nothing. Now if 
you could get rid of me as a competitor, it would really be a 
capital thing for your business ! I demand that the assembly 
pass to the order of the day upon that question of lavender 
water and pomatum, which is too much below its dignity.” 

“ The order of the day !” shouted out the crowd, and Verdier 


MARTINE. 


127 


was saved. It was near one o’clock in tlie morning when the 
business terminated. 

“ This is a bad night for me,” said Verdier when we went 
out. 

“ Why so, my dear friend ? Have they not, on the contrary, 
voted the order of the day, over the accusation brought against 
you ? ” 

“Yes; but the member who demanded that measure has 
been nominated a member of the committee, and because his 
trade had failed, he thought it necessary to dive deeply into 
politics. Now, I know that man, and that he will return to 
the charge. It appears to me as if my head was half off my 
shoulders already.” 

The day after the sitting of the popular society, of which I 
have endeavored to give the reader a scrupulously exact report, 
I was conversing with my host before the door of his ware- 
house, when we saw passing a poor woman with a pale coun- 
tenance, haggard eyes, and whose air of deep sadness attracted 
my attention. Verdier called to her. “ What ’s the matter 
now, Martine ? ” asked he in a kindly tone. 

“Ah! my good Verdier,” answered she wildly, “this is the 
last time that you will see me ! In a few minutes I shall no 
longer be in this world ! ” 

“You are foolish, Martine! What are you talking about ?” 

“Alas ! it is the truth. This morning the committee of sur- 
veillance made a descent upon my house, where they found a 
little wheat, that I had saved by carefulness and privations. 
My poor husband, having taken the responsibility of it upon 
himself, has been arrested and thrown into prison ! ” 

“At present I am left with my two unfortunate children, 
who have eaten nothing since yesterday, and are dying of 
hunger ! ” 

“And what do you mean to do?” 

“Suffocate them, and then cut my own throat,” answered 
6 


128 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


Martine, wildly. “ Innocent creatures ! Why should I suffer 
them to die thus by inches? Is it not better for them to escape 
from all the sufferings that await them ? and that will be wholly 
terminated by death!” 

At this horrible confession, Verdier, rousing' himself from 
the reflections in which he had been plunged, addressed 
Martine : “ So much the worse for you if you abuse my confi- 
dence, ” said he; “follow me.” When he got into his shop, 
Verdier turned to me, and pointing to the street door: “Will 
you, my dear friend,” said he, “although an officer, mount 
guard a moment ? If, by chance, any commissary of the society 
of surveillance should present himself, cough three times run- 
ning, to warn me of their visit.” 

“Willingly; you may depend upon me.” 

The perfumer went off, and returning directly, put a parcel 
into the hands of Martine. “ Here, my good neighbor,” he said, 
“is your wheat! Do not betray me, and go back to your 
children. No thanks ! When you have consumed this wheat, 
if you are still destitute, come to me again, I have provisions 
in store ! ” 

“Ah! my good M. Verdier, may God — ” 

“No thanks,” interrupted my host, “do not betray me, that’s 
all I ask of you.” 

“My dear friend,” said I to my host, when the unfortunate 
mother was gone, “ what you have done is very good ; but are 
you not afraid, that in listening thus to the dictates of your 
heart, you will probably involve yourself in misery in your 
turn ? Such is the scarcity that now prevails, wheat is more 
precious than gold, and your conduct is too generous!” 

“Not so much enthusiasm, my dear friend,” answered he, 
smiling, “and do n’t make so much of so small a matter! You 
may have remarked that bird-cage set in the wall of the back 
shop ; it conceals the door of a closet, which holds sixty quintals 
of grain ! It is a reserve, known to no one in the world but 


MARTINE. 


129 


myself, and you now, excepted, which will serve to feed my 
family when it shall be reduced to the last extremity. For the 
rest, nothing is more easy than to supply myself with grain ! ” 

Verdier had scarcely finished pronouncing these words, 
■when tumultuous cries, proceeding from the street, drew us 
anew to the warehouse door. We saw a numerous assemblage, 
who came toward us; then soon, alas! - in the midst of this 
agitated mass, we distinguished the unfortunate Martine, who, 
pushed and tossed about on all sides, had her clothes half torn 
off, and her hair dishevelled. We learned from one of the 
spectators of this scene, that the poor woman having let fall 
one of the corners of the cloth which contained the wheat that 
she carried, the grain was scattered on the ground ; in an in- 
stant a person threw himself upon her, calling her a monopolist, 
and had her arrested. The unfortunate woman in passing be- 
fore us, threw upon us a glance full of entreaty, and raising 
her voice, as if she were addressing the crowd : 

‘‘Citizens! I conjure you,” she said, “let me return to my 
children who are waiting for me ; what is to become of those 
innocent creatures thus abandoned ? ” 

Verdier answered this indirect appeal by a look of intelli- 
gence ; and the poor Martine, seeing that she was understood, 
and that her children had found a protector, went away with- 
out adding a word, or offering* the^ least resistance. 

“Come, my friend,” said Verdier, a little after, and taking his 
hat, “I am the involuntary cause, it is true; but still I am the 
cause of the misfortune of that poor woman, and I ought, as 
far as I can, to repair it.” 

Half an hour after, the children of Martine, entrusted to an 
old woman who knew my host, found themselves beyond the 
reach of cold and hunger. The good perfumer and I returned 
to the house, when, in crossing the square, tve were attacked 
by a man whose repulsively ugly countenance and impudent 
address certainly spoke little in his favor. 


130 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“I have no doubt about your opinions, Verdier!” cried he, 
raising his voice so as to attract the attention of the passers-by, 
“you are the worthy relation of your cousin! Like him an 
aristocrat, a pensioner of the foreigner, an emissary of the ci- 
devant princes of the house of Bourbon ! Yes, I have proofs 
in hand of your treasons! Tremble!” 

The crowd, on hearing these formal accusations repeated 
with a loud voice, immediately gathered round Verdier. 

“And by what proofs do you support these accusations ? ” 
demanded my host of his furious enemy. 

“By a proof which you cannot deny, because it still exists! 
Yesterday, I sent to purchase of you a pot of pomatum, in 
order to discover the fraudulent method you employ in the 
manufacture; now, the label, which I have carefully preserved, 
bears three fleur-de-lis, surrounded by these words: Pommade- 
a-la-royale ! ” 

At this revelation, a cry of indignation broke from the crowcf; 
when my host, without losing anything of his sang-froid, 
turned the laugh upon his assailant by his answer. 

“Ah, well, yes ! I agree,” said he, that you may find upon my 
pots some old labels ; but you know, citizen, that from time to 
time we comb the heads of the royalists well; is it not there- 
fore. right to give them also a little pomatum ? ” 

Scarcely were these words pronounced, than a universal 
burst of laughter shook the crowd, who immediately began to 
disperse. 

“Now that we are alone, my dear brother,” said Verdier, 
addressing his accuser, “ let ’s talk reasonably. What do you 
want? That I should give up a trade in which I succeed 
better than you? That I should free you from my dangerous 
competition ? That is the true motive of your hostility to me, 
is it not ? Will you engage to cease all hostility against me, 
and no longer to pursue me, if I promise that before the end 
of a month, I will shut my shop, and cease to be a perfumer? 


A RIVAL IN TRADE. 


131 


I speak to you now with sincerity, and play with your 
cards on the table; answer me, and act with the same 
frankness.” 

“It is certain that if you act thus,” answered Verdier’s 
brother member, in a considerably softened tone, “ you will 
acquire such claims to my good will, that unless I am a mon- 
ster of ingratitude, it would be impossible for me to injure you. 
I have no objection to take your stock off your hands.” 

“Well, then, it is agreed,” said Verdier, — “a month hence, 
my stock shall be yours.” 

“Truly, my friend, I begin to think that I have judged you 
wrongfully,” cried the new member of the committee of the 
popular society, clasping the hand of my host. “ What would 
you have ? The fault lies in the bad reputation of your cousin 
Edmond, which has been reflected upon all his family.” 

Verdier, after having answered these amicable advances, 
with an appearance of sincere cordiality, took leave of the 
member. For myself, I felt indignant beyond expression. 
“I hope, my dear friend,” said I, “ that you will not keep to 
this bargain, which cannot be serious ” 

“I beg your pardon there,” answered he, “ this bargain is 
the most serious thing in the world, since the non-execution of it 
would involve the loss of my head! I have maturely weighed 
and examined the chances of ruin and safety which resistance 
presented ; and the result has been, the entire conviction that I 
should fall in the struggle. I am ruined ; but I prefer the loss 
of my business, to that of my head. You see the public power 
is used by the elect of the people, only to improve their per- 
sonal position. It is a settled thing.” 

The same evening I was seated at a corner of the fireplace, 
conversing with Verdier on the events of the day, when some 
of his friends came to pay him a visit. 

“Do you know the great news, Verdier?” said a draper. 
« To* morrow they will judge Agatha Lautier!” 


132 ~ NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 

“Poor saint! ” answered my host, with deep emotion. “ I 
hope they will leave her at quiet in her prison.” 

“Everybody hopes so!” resumed the draper, “ but it ap- 
pears that some high personages having presented complaints 
against her, the committee of public safety thinks it ought to 
inflict a punishment. All honest people in the city are in a 
commotion.” 

“Poor saint!” repeated Verdier, with an air of respectful 
commiseration; “ they will not pardon her! Her virtues speak 
too loudly against her! Another victim for the scaffold!” 

“Who is this Agatha Lautier?” asked I of Verdier. 

“ Agatha Lautier is beloved by the whole city ! She is a 
nun, scarcely twenty-three years of age, eminently handsome, 
exemplary in her conduct, and is never named but with vener- 
ation. Have you never heard her mentioned?” 

“Never! and I shall be happy, if it does not disturb you, to 
hear the rest of her history.” 

“I ask nothing better,” answered Verdier. “ This is it in a 
few words : It is five years ago that a deep sensation was crea- 
ted in the city by the news that Agatha, for whose hand twenty 
rivals disputed, had taken the veil ! In vain did her friends 
supplicate her to renounce this project; neither prayers nor re- 
monstrances, nor exhortations, could move her from her resolu- 
tion. In fifteen days she entered the convent as a novice. We 
hoped that, deterred soon by the monastic severities of her call- 
ing, she would return to the world ; nothing of the kind ! Two 
years afterward, all the city of Grasse were present at the tak- 
ing of the veil by Agatha Lautier ! 

“Upon the suppression of the convents, Agatha withdrew, 
with her superior, to a little cottage, which the latter possessed 
at Antibes, where they both lived in such entire seclusion 
that their existence was hardly suspected. The superior had 
a brother, a captain, who had thrown himself into Toulon when 
that city raised the standard of revolt against the republic. 


AGATHA LAUTIER. 


133 


This captain was wounded, and as soon as he was convalescent, 
took refuge with his sister. He had not been with her a fort- 
night before he was recognized, denounced, and arrested by 
order of the revolutionaiy committee. His sister and mademoi- 
selle Agatha, both accused of having concealed an outlaw, shared 
his fate. The captain perished on the scaffold, and his sister 
died with grief on the same day. Agatha Lautier, now alone 
in the world, became the benefactress of the prison : consoling 
the afflicted, sustaining the weak, and waiting upon the sick. 
The influence acquired by the admirable devotedness of the 
young girl over her companions in captivity, was so great that 
the interior of the prison was no longer the same ; they were 
almost happy there. The sentiments of charity and brother- 
hood, which she knew how to inspire in her companions, allevi- 
ated their captivity and rendered it bearable. You will compre- 
hend that such a line of conduct would not long remain unpun- 
ished. Therefore, Agatha Lautier appears to-morrow before 
the criminal tribunal.” 

“Faith! You have awakened in me such a desire to see 
this young creature, that I shall go to the tribunal.” 

“ Well then, I will accompany you.” 

At the first ray of light that shot across my chamber, I 
dressed myself and went to find Yerdier. 

It was scarcely four o’clock, when we went out to go to the 
tribunal. The sitting was not to open till six o’clock, but the 
interest that Agatha Lautier inspired was such, that the whole 
city went in a mass to the tribunal, and although we were two 
hours in advance of the sitting, we had the greatest difficulty 
in getting into the hall. Scarcely had I entered, when a violent 
blow on the shoulder almost upset me. I turned about furiously : 
it was Anselme. My host and I joined him. 

“ How is it then, my friend,” said I, “ that I find you here ? ” 

“ Faith ! I might put the same question to you. I am come 
to see. It appears that the ogres of the committee are going 


134 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


to devour a poor young girl, whose whole ciime consists in 
having too much virtue. I shall not be sorry to witness this 
monstrosity, which will only confirm me the stronger in my 
new opinions, for you know that I have changed them. After 
an interval of two hours, a bell sounded, silence was proclaimed, 
and the tribunal made its entry into the hall. The members of 
the tribunal were scarcely seated, when the bell sounded again. 

“ There she is ! There she is ! ” cried the crowd, and the 
young devotee appeared. A murmur of pity resounded on all 
sides. For myself, I confess I was struck with respect and ad- 
miration at the sight of the young girl. Her round head dress, 
fastened by a band of black gauze, enclosed the most celestial 
and ideal countenance that can be conceived — a true type of 
the virgin of Raphael. A neckerchief of white muslin, on 
which shone a little cross of gold suspended from a black cord, 
completed the chaste toilet of the young martyr, as far as I 
could see it. After the ordinary questions, as to her age, pro- 
fession, domicile, &c., the president entered upon the gist of the 
act of accusation. 

“ Do you know, Agatha Lauder,” said he, “ that the brother 
of your former abbess was hidden in the house you lived 
in? ” 

“Yes, citizen, I do know it,” replied she without hesitation. 

“Agatha Lautier,” continued the president, “was the 
house that you occupied hired in your name ? Reflect well 
before you reply, for the words you are about to speak will 
decide your fate.” 

“ I thank you, citizen, for your goodness,” said the young 
mm. “ Yes, indeed, I well understand that to answer in the 
affirmative, is to confess to having given an asylum to an out- 
law, and that that confession involves a condemnation to death! 
God has given me, up to this day of my life, strength to avoid 
falling into falsehood, and I will answer truly. After the sup- 
pression of the convents, our poor abbess had only her pension 


THE TRIAL. 


135 


for the entire means of existence; but they soon ceased to pay 
it, and she found herself reduced, as well as myself, to work 
with her hands. We had believed, till now, that the humble 
cottage we inhabited belonged to my old abbess ; but we were 
deceived. We hired that cottage. It was to my worthy abbess 
and to me, that its proprietor had let it, and it was I who 
always went to pay the rent.” 

At this reply a murmur of sorrow ran through the auditory, 
for they saw that Agatha was lost. 

The president seemed to hesitate a moment ; but soon 
resuming his examination: 

“Agatha,” said he slowly, probably in order to make the 
young nun understand the importance of this question, “ with 
wliat funds did you discharge the rent to the proprietor: did 
not those funds proceed from the private resources of your 
ex-abbess, your part in that affair being reduced to that of a 
simple agent ? Do not put yourself out ; take time, and reflect 
before you answer.” 

“ I thank you much, citizen president,” said Agatha, “ but 
truth is but one, and I do not want to reflect. The money with 
which we paid our rent, was the produce of the work, common 
to both my superior and myself; and as I was younger than 
she, it was naturally I who earned most. Yes, I understand 
quite well that this answer may be unfavorable to me,” said ^ie, 
on hearing a dull murmur rise from the benches of the audi- 
tory, “ for it renders me answerable for the asylum granted 
by my superior to her brother.” 

On hearing the murmur, or to speak more properly, the uni- 
versal and spontaneous groans which arose from the auditory, 
the commissioner of the executive power rose hastily from his 
chair, and in a sharp voice, 

“ How is it,” cried he, “ that this scandalous sensibility is 
indulged for a wretched counter-revolutionist, who has con- 
cealed an assassin of the country ? Are there indeed traitors 
6 * 


136 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


in this court ? Is there not to be found a single true republican ? 
Simple citizens, who ascribe the words of that woman to the 
respect due to truth, cannot you perceive that a senseless and 
guilty passion has alone dictated these answers ? She will not sur- 
vive her lover, the defunct captain of the ex-regiment of Anjou ! ” 

“ Citizen,” said Agatha, in the midst of a solemn silence, 
“I regret on your own account the words you have just spoken. 
Do not think that I yield to pride in repulsing your calumnies. 
No ; the witness of my conscience is enough for me, and I 
would remain silent if I did not fear that the odious charge, 
received without examination or reflection, might become a 
subject of scandal, a weapon in the hands of those who unceas- 
ingly attack religion in the faults of its servants. Before God 
who hears me, and will judge you ; before God who has given 
me the strength necessary to prefer death to falsehood, the 
captain has never been to me but a brother in Jesus Christ; an 
unfortunate outlaw", whom charity bound me to assist! ” 

The commissioner, in spite of himself, cast down his eyes 
at this reply ; however, thanks to a powerful effort of his will, 
he overcame his embarrassment. “ Now the scene of the 
comedy is acted, let us go on with the debate,” said he, in a 
brief and ironical tone. 

The president then addressed, for form sake, some new and 
insignificant questions to Agatha, and then declared the debate 
terminated. The commissioner, who spoke in his turn, did not 
belie the bad opinion I had conceived of him. After his speech, 
there prevailed amongst the auditory a deep and painful silence. 
The judges consulted together, but their deliberations were of 
short duration, and they scarcely rose- before ’they were again 
seated. The president rose, and after the usual forms, pro- 
nounced, in an indignant voice, these wwds : “ The tribunal 
condemns Agatha Lautier to the punishment of death, and 
declares her goods confiscated to the benefit of the nation!” 

“The Lord be praised, may His holy will be done!” said 


SPEEDY CONDEMNATION. 


137 


ihe young nun, in a calm voice, after the pronouncing of this 
judgment. 

“ Have you nothing to add?” demanded the president. 

“ Nothing, citizen,” answered Agatha Lautier; but soon 
bethinking herself, and raising her humid and grateful eyes to 
the president, — “ yes, citizen,” resumed she, “ it remains for 
me, before quitting this world, to thank the tribunal for the 
humanity it has shown me. In a few hours, if God deigns to 
grant me mercy, I will pray for it in the abode of the elect!” 

“ Poor and generous young girl ! ” said Anselme to me, 
whilst big tears swelled his eyelids, and trembled on their 
lashes, “ she has not dared to thank the president personally, 
for fear of compromising him, for the kindness he has shown 
her, and has therefore ingeniously addressed the tribunal. 
What delicacy and virtue, my dear friend! Enraptured by 
such an example, I feel that happiness is found only in the 
fulfillment of duty, and I have a great desire to strangle that 
beggarly commissioner. What do you think of the project? 
Adieu, poor saint! adieu!” murmured he, on seeing the gen- 
darmes surround Agatha Lautier and lead her out of the hall. 

A new prisoner now appeared at the bar. He was a stout, 
robust countryman, with a face bronzed by the sun, clothes 
worn by labor, and a ringing voice. At the first questions 
put to him by the president, he addressed the tribunal in a 
patois, and declared that he could not speak the French language. 

“ If I speak more slowly, do you think you will understand 
me better?” demanded the president, scanning his phraseology. 

The prisoner opened his great eyes, shrugged his shoulders 
several times, as if in despair, and remained silent. After a 
pause of some moments, the president resuming his address; 
" let them bring forward the witnesses,” said he. 

At this order five or six peasants advanced to the bar. 

“ Who is this man ? ” demanded the magistrate, addressing 
one of them. 


138 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ That man is the advocate Lavaux, formerly of Marseilles, 
and now an outlaw for his federalist plots 1” 

“ Are you quite sure of what you aver ? ” 

“ I can ’t be more certain. I swear it upon the republic.” 

All the other witnesses, being interrogated in turn, made 
the same declaration. The pretended peasant turned pale. 

“ President,” cried he, exchanging his unintelligible patois 
for excellent French, I confess I wished to impose on the 
tribunal ; but listen to me, I am innocent as a new-born child 
of the infamous crime of federalism, of which they accuse me.” 

“ We are ready to hear you; speak,” said the president. 

“ Citizens,” cried the prisoner, addressing the judges, “ I am 
glad of the opportunity of appearing before you, for I owe 
to it the power of freely expressing my sentiments. Citizens, 
there is but one truth in the world, — the republic; but one 
possible republic, that which we have this day the happiness to 
enjoy. Its intelligence, and its virtuous example, moralizes 
the people whom its genius produces. Still I will not conceal 
from you, citizens, that whilst acknowledging and admiring 
the sublime qualities possessed by the mountain, I have a 
cause of reproach against it. Yes, citizens, it is to be regretted 
that the mountain suffers itself to be moved by. the sight of 
tears, caused by the arrests of justice ; for the tears of traitors 
fructify the soil of liberty.” 

“ Prisoner Lavaux,” said the president, interrupting the ad- 
vocate, “ I must remind you that it does not become you to 
make motions, but to defend yourself. Ten witnesses have 
sworn that you are the same Lavaux inculpated in the federalist 
plot of Marseilles, and outlawed. That is the point on which 
alone you must explain yourself.” 

“Ia federalist ! ” cried Lavaux, indignantly. “ What 
calumny and falsehood! Accuse me, citizen, of being a thief, 
an assassin, and I will certainly defend myself; but to pretend 
that I am a federalist ! Do you know, citizen president, that 


THE MARSEILLES ADVOCATE. 


139 


not one of these execrable criminals has been put to death 
without my being at the foot of the scaffold, enjoying the an- 
guish of their last moments ? That I have assisted to massacre 
more than ten! I a federalist! Come, then; it is a mockery 
to pretend such a monstrosity.” 

“ However, you are certainly Lavaux, the advocate of Mar- 
seilles. The depositions of the witnesses leave no possibility 
of doubt in this respect.” 

“Ah! allow me. I understand it all now,” answered the 
accused, pretending joy and surprise. “ Yes, I am an advocate ; 
I am called Lavaux, and I live at Marseilles. But there is 
also in that city one of my profession, of the same name; 
which has caused the error of my being taken for a federalist.” 

The president then recalled the witnesses, and asked if it 
was true, as the accused pretended ; but they all, without hesi- 
tation, declared there was no other of the name. 

The advocate wanted to reply, but the president ordered 
him to hold his tongue, and the gendarmes forced him io sit 
down. Sentence of death was passed on the prisoner, with 
confiscation of his effects to the use of the republic. 

“ Wretches!” exclaimed he, addressing his judges. “May 
my innocent blood fall on your guilty heads! Yes, I am a 
federalist; yes, I hate and despise the mountain; yes, the re- 
public has disgraced itself by wallowing in blood ; yes, you are — 
you , the representatives and servants of the mountain, are 
cowards and assassins! Yes, your memory will be held up to 
the execration of posterity.” 

Whilst the accused expressed himself thus violently, the 
gendarmes attempted to wrench him from a wooden bar to 
which he clung; it was only after long efforts that they suc- 
ceeded in dragging him from the hall, foaming with rage ; whilst 
cries of “To the guillotine, to the guillotine with the federalist !” 
accompanied him to the door of the tribunal. 

It was very late when I re-entered the house of my host, 


140 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


where I found him absorbed in sad and deep reflections. I 
passed a sleepless night, and rose the next morning with the 
first dawn. I had scarcely breakfasted, when one of the Ser- 
jeant majors of' my company presented himself before me. 

“ Adj utant,” said he, “ I come to inform you that the batta- 
lion has been required, by the criminal tribunal, to take arms 
and mount guard at the execution of the two sentences of 
death which took place yesterday, and will be carried into effect 
to day. They will set out in a quarter of an hour.” 

I will not attempt to describe to the reader the regret, 
almost despair, caused in me by this order; but I was a soldier, 
and must obey. Precisely at one o’clock, the drum beat, and 
the battalion, divided into two detachments, left the barracks ; 
the first was ordered to repair to the square where the exe- 
cution was to take place; the other was charged with escorting 
the condemned: I formed part of the latter. Arrived before 
the door of the prison, the troops formed in double rank, and 
awaited the coming out of the prisoners. 

A keeper of the prison, to whom I offered two crowns if he 
succeeded in enabling me to get to the condemned, bade me 
follow him. After crossing a dark corridor divided by several 
doors, I at length arrived at the room which contained the con- 
demned. Nothing could be more affecting and melancholy 
than the spectacle which presented itself to me. The advocate, 
Lavaux, strongly bound upon a large and massy arm-chair of 
oak, looked pale and livid, although his eyes shone with a 
feverish light, and his strong and husky voice was continually 
heard, now insulting his executioners, then, a moment after, 
imploring their pity. At a few paces from Lavaux, seated on 
a chair, and surrounded with turnkeys and hangmen, was 
Agatha Lautier. When I entered, the subaltern attendants 
of the guillotine were occupied in preparing the young martyr 
for death. One of them, armed with a pair of large scissors, 
the blades of which, gapped with too frequent use, tore, rather 


FEMALE FORTITUDE. . 


141 


tlian cut off her magnificent locks. Another bound her hands 
with a cord. As to the chief executioner, a lean, bony, withered 
old man, he directed, with the greatest indifference, the pro- 
ceedings of his valets. 

Never shall I forget the sublime expression of resignation 
and mildness reflected from the celestial countenance of the 
young sister. From her beaming looks, I guessed that her 
thoughts were raised toward heaven. Agatha Lautier, I am 
persuaded, had lost, at that moment, the consciousness of 
earthly existence, and thought not of the guillotine. In a 
moment, however, I saw her turn pale, and her face betrayed 
the expression of acute physical suffering; for the execu- 
tioner’s servant, charged with tying her delicate arms, had 
exercised such brutality, that the blood had flowed to the 
extremities of her slender fingers. 

“Take care there, wretch!” said 1, unable to contain my 
indignation. The brute relaxed the cords with which he had 
bound his victim. 

“ I thank you, sir,” said Agatha, in a soft voice, the sound 
of which still vibrates in my ears ; “ I thank you, sir, for your 
humanity.” 

At this moment, the servant employed in cutting, or rather 
tearing off her hair, by a sudden and involuntary pull, displaced 
the muslin neckerchief which covered the shoulders and bosom 
of the victim. The man stooped to pick it up, when Agatha, 
with a fire and indignation, rendered more striking by the con- 
trast with her habitual mildness, rose quickly from her chair, 
and throwing herself backward : “ Sir,” said she, her cheeks 
covered with a deep blush, “ my head belongs to you, but I 
am entitled to all your respect. Touch me not!” 

One of the women present picked up the neckerchief, 
and put it again tipon her shoulders, saying, “ Ah, citizen, 
there is not a better patriot than I ; but on seeing you con- 
demned, I, for the first time, cursed the republic.” 


142 


2J0TES OP A VOLUNTEER. 


“I thank you for your sympathy, my good woman,” answered 
'Agatha, with an accent which spoke from her heart ; “ only, 
believe me, you ought not to curse.” 

“ Let us set out,” said the executioner, knocking out the 
ashes of his pipe upon his thumb-nail. 

Agatha Lautier, since her condemnation, had several times 
expressed her desire to have the assistance of a confessor at 
her last hour. At the moment in which the signal for depart- 
ure was given, a person employed in the prison ran to inform 
her that a priest had offered himself to accompany her to the 
scaffold. At this news, the countenance of the poor child 
shone with an expression of celestial joy. 

The chief executioner, fixing his eyes upon a great silver 
watch, which he drew from his fob, gave unequivocal signs of 
his bad humor ; turning a second time to his assistants, he re- 
iterated the order for their departure. Agatha Lautier rose 
immediately, and proceeded tow r ard the outer door with a calm 
and collected step. It was otherwise with the Marseilles advo- 
cate : although his arms and hands were firmly tied behind 
his back, he found means to cling to the bars of the arm-chair 
on which he was seated, and in a voice which fear rendered 
harsh and almost unintelligible; “ I am innocent ! ” said he, 
“there has been a mistake! Let them go and find the com- 
missary of the executive power! Long live the mountain! 
Down with Brissot ! Down with Danton ! Long live Robes- 
pierre ! Long live St. Juste ! ” 

“ Come, my lads,” said the executioner, addressing his assist- 
ants, “ take hold of this noisy fellow, and carry him upon your 
shoulders.” 

The assistants threw themselves upon Lavaux, to execute 
the orders of their master; but the first who laid his hand 
upon him uttered a cry of pain and flung himself backward. 
The prisoner had set his teeth into his shoulder. “Ah, wretch,” 
cried the executioner, “ do you treat my men thus ? Mind ! ” 


TRUE HEROISM. 


143 


and with his bony hand he struck him violently in the face. 
Lavaux uttered a harsh inarticulate sound, scarcely human, 
then, with his eyes starting* from their sockets, and grinding 
his teeth, he seemed to wait impatiently the approach of his 
enemies. It was a hideous picture that I shall never forget. 

As to Agatha, relapsed into her reflections, a happy smile 
wandered over her features. She had seen and heard nothing 
of -the brutal and bloody scene that had just passed. The exe- 
cutioner himself, accustomed as he was to the passive courage 
of his victims, could not avoid remarking the striking contrast 
in the conduct of his two prisoners. “Are you not ashamed, 
you coward ! ” said he, addressing Lavaux, “ to show so much 
weakness before that child? You roar, you struggle, you bite 
and scratch for nothing ; — your head must come off ; take ex- 
ample from the nun.” 

Lavaux continued his cries, and ground his teeth with fury. 

“ Come ! it is time to finish this game,” said he, addressing 
his assistants: “throw a coverlet over the head of this madman, 
and pack him up, so that he can neither bite nor speak, and 
let’s be off!” 

This order was immediately obeyed, and, in two minutes, 
Lavaux and Agatha mounted the tumbril which waited for 
them at the prison door. 

Lavaux having refused to hear the exhortations of the priest, 
was seated between two gendarmes. Behind him, placed beside 
the minister of God, was Agatha ; another gendarme and two 
executioners completed the loading of the cart. In spite of the 
danger there was in showing any sympathy for those condem- 
ned by the criminal tribunal, the crowd, at the sight of the 
young girl, raised a murmur, of admiration and pity. Never 
had there been collected together at Grasse so great a crowd 
as that which filled the streets of that city. Stopped at every 
moment of its passage, the tumbril advanced extremely slow. 
With my head resting on my breast for shame, and absorbed 


144 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


in grief, I mechanically followed my company which escorted 
the fatal tumbril. 

The multitude who awaited the arrival of the condemned in 
the square, uttered such cries when they appeared, that sister 
Agatha, disturbed in her devotions, cast around her a long and 
inquiring look. The first object which met her view was the 
scaffold. The sun shone full upon the keen blade, which spark- 
led in the rays. At this sight, Lavaux, whose fury had given 
place to complete prostration, began to sob. Agatha turned 
pale, and a nervous agitation shook her limbs. 

“ Courage, my child,” said the priest, “ that iron which alarms 
you so much, will knock, in falling, at the gate of heaven.” 
These words restored serenity to the victim. 

In two minutes our detachment surrounded the guillotine, 
before which the tumbril stopped. “My brother,” said sister 
Agatha, “you and I are going/to appear before God!” 

“There is no God!” said Lavaux, “for if there was, he 
would not let them cut my throat thus.” 

“Do you believe then, brother,” answered she, “that if God 
had not given me courage, I should be so tranquil in the pros- 
pect of death ? ” 

Hereupon the executioner, assisted by his assistants, seized 
her, and pushed her before him toward the stairs of the scaffold. 
The young girl mounted them with a firm and confident step. 
Immediately the vile purveyors of death rushed upon her, and 
with brutal hands, laid her down upon the fatal plank. “Lono* 
live sister Agatha ! ” cried a sonorous voice, which rose in the 
midst of the silence, — it was that of Anselme. 

On seeing the poor victim thus mauled* by the wretched 
butchers, I had shut my eyes. Never shall I forget the fearful 
impression produced in my mind by the fall of the hatchet. 
Lost in grief, I tried to persuade myself that I was the sport 
of some fearful dream ; when an uproar near me, followed by 
a violent movement of the crowd, recalled me to real life. 


HORRIBLE SPECTACLE. 


145 


d “Ah, the shabby fellow ! ” cried a sans-culotte of the purest 
species, at least, if one might judge by his costume; “Ah, the 
10 blackguard ; he rebels, and will not make up his mind to the 
* guillotine!” 

d I raised my eyes to the guillotine. Horrible ! The blood 
ie streamed from it! * 

;• The spectacle which it presented was the most hideous and 
a striking that can be conceived. Lavaux, foaming at the mouth, 
d struggled and uttered harsh and inarticulate cries, in the midst 
of the officials, striking, scratching, and biting them with the 
j utmost rage, and thus kept them at a distance. At last the 
" combatants, fatigued with such a resistance, called for the help 
of the soldiers of our detachment. I blush to confess it, but 
, truth obliges me to say, that -several of my comrades answered 
r the appeal. The furious Lavaux was soon laid upon the plank, 
and in a few seconds he was dead! The crowd shouted, 
i , “Long live the mountain! Death to the traitors!” 

I then hoped that this bloody drama had terminated ; but I 
was mistaken. When the cries of the crowd were a little sub- 
sided, the executioner seized the two heads of the prisoners, 
and hurled them into the middle of the square. The cries of 
“Long live the mountain!” rose again with greater strength. 
When the mutilated head of the unfortunate sister Agatha 
rebounded from the ground, an old woman took it up, kissed it 
in the forehead, and cried with a steady voice: — “Never did a 
more holy relic pass the threshold of a church!” No notice 
was taken of this remark, which might otherwise have involved 
the death of her who pronounced it. 

The drum beat and we were about to return to the quarters, 
when I saw the ranks disband themselves, and our men col- 
lected in a crowd round a grenadier who had just fainted and 
fallen on the ground. I approached and recognized my friend 
Anselme. Every one attributed this accident to the heat; 
they little knew the heart of Anselme. 


CHAPTER Y. 


Edmond and Gerard again — Tlieir Hiding-place — Gerard’s Narrative. — The Chateau of 
Grand-boeuf ; Its Attack and gallant Defense — A Revolutionary Peasantry — The 
Chateau Abandoned and Burnt — Escape and Revenge of Gerard — He Enlists— 
Anselme meditates a change of Party — The Camp at Saorgio — We are reviewed 
by the General — I smell Powder for the first time — Queer Feelings — I come off 
Conqueror — Life in the Camp — A Deserter; His Dinner and Death — A Secret 
Expedition — Surprise and Slaughter of the Piedmontese — Anselme wounded — 
I leave the Camp on furlough — Arrive at Messina — Return to Grasse — Trans- 
formation of Verdier — Arrive at Toulon — Massacre of a Workman — My own 
Narrow Escape. 

During tlie four or five days succeeding the execution of 
Sister Agatha and Lavaux, I remained in a melancholy state 
of mind, shut up in my chamber, and saw Yerdier but rarely. 

“My dear friend,” said he one morning on entering my 
chamber, “ I have a service to ask of you, and one that will 
require all your coolness and energy.” 

“Speak,” said I, “I am at your command.” 

“This is the case; I have received a letter from my cousin 
Edmond, who begs of you to meet him instantly at the ruins: 
will you go ? ” 

I had no thought of refusing, and an hour after breakfast 
I started. It was noon when I arrived at the old Chateau of 
the Templars: 1 had seated myself upon the same stone 
which had served me for a place of rest upon my first excur- 
sion into these latitudes, when a slight whistle attracted my 
attention. 

“This way, my dear friend,” said the voice of Edmond; 
“pass along the postern before you.” 

I obeyed. The postern was so low, narrow, and obstructed 


gerard’s history. 


147 


with rubbish, that I had some trouble to clear myself a pas- 
sage. At last I found myself in a kind of court, enclosed by 
the walls of the Dijon. Edmond waited for me. 

“I ask your pardon, my dear sir,” said he, clasping my hand 
amicably, “for the trouble I have given you; but you know 
my position, and cannot blame the precaution that I take. 
Anselme is on the watch. Will you pass into the saloon?” 

Following him through a long, dark, and narrow corridor, I 
came to a spacious room, lighted by a lamp suspended from 
the roof. Two bunches of straw which represented beds, two 
chairs roughly put together, and a board supported by four 
stakes, representing a table, completed the household goods of 
the outlaws. A small cask of wine, some sacks of beans, and 
five or six bottles of oil, were all the provisions at their disposal. 
Four double-barreled pistols hung up against the wall, consti- 
tuted their arsenal. As we entered, a shrill whistle was heard. 
“ *Tis my friend Gerard, who is coming to present his respects 
to you,” said Edmond. The old soldier steward appeared 
: almost immediately, and shook me warmly by the hand. 

' “Sir,” said he, “I cannot express the gratitude I owe you 
for your presence here. You have doubtless not forgotten the 
t hope you raised the last time I had the honor of seeing you.” 
He referred to a plan at which I had hinted for rescuing him 
from his present dangerous position. 

“ No, Gerard; I will do all in my power to assist you.” 

“ And you were good enough to add, that you had a very 
simple plan.” 

“ Which I am quite ready to communicate to you. How- 
ever, I confess I shall not be sorry first to know your history.” 

“ Faith, I think it will only weary you.” 

“Fear not that; speak, I am listening.” 

I took a chair; Edmond threw himself upon one of the 
bunches of straw, and Gerard, seating himself between us, 
commenced his history. 


148 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ My life,” said he, “ dat from my entering the regiment 
in which I served fifteen years, with the Count de Grand-boeuf. 
The Count was colonel at three years of age, whilst at twenty 
I was still only brigadier. I taught him all that wo,s neces- 
sary for a colonel to know, that is to say, five or six commands j 
and three or four evolutions, which obtained for me the rank 
of quarter-master. 

“ The Count was sixteen and I was thirty-five, when he 
withdrew me from the regiment, and placed me as steward in i 
his chateau of Grand-boeuf. 

“ I led the happiest life that can be imagined, when, about ! 
three years ago, the first clouds of the storm which now rages 
showed themselves in the horizon. The Count was one of 
the first to emigrate. One night he arrived unexpectedly at 
the chateau. ‘ Gerard,’ said he to me, ‘ the rustics are turned 
fools, and dream of becoming my equals. I am going to join 
tMe princes abroad, and we will soon return and bring these j 
blackguards to reason ! Until my return I trust the defense of 
my chateau to you, and invest you with discretionary powers. 
All my people will be under your superintendence. If Grand- 
boeuf is attacked, I know your courage and energy, and I do 
not doubt for an instant that you will come out of this enter- 
prise triumphant. On my return I shall- know how to reward 
you amply for your courage and zeal.’ I swore to the Count 
that I would show myself worthy of the confidence he had 
thus placed in me. 

“ I immediately set about purchasing a great store of arms, 
and putting Grand-boeuf into a state of defense. But I did 
not stop here; I went to all the most discontented vassals on 
the domain, and tried to conciliate them. I made myself 
acquainted with their embarrassments and wants, and gene- 
rously assisted them. Success seemed to attend the effort; 
the grateful vassals promised to remain faithful to their 
Seigneur. Some days passed without producing any incident, 


THE CHATEAU. 


149 


when I heard' of the pillage and burning of a neighboring 
chateau; and the same night the vassals of the domain came 
to look for me, and one of them, delegated by his comrades, 
entertained me with the following discourse: 

“ ‘ Monsieur Deputy ! Grateful for the goodness of Seigneur, 
we have decided to respect his chateau; we have therefore 
arranged with our friends of the neighboring district, that 
they shall allow us to attack and destroy the chateau of their 
Seigneur, whilst they will demolish and burn that of Grand- 
boeuf ! In this way, we shall not have the vexation of coming 
to blows with you. Now that you have been warned, you 
can take your precautions accordingly.’ 

“ 1 My friends/ said I, ‘ I would as soon have you for op- 
ponents as your neighbors ; do not, therefore, oppress yourselves 
with your feelings of gratitude ; come whenever you think 
proper, I will be ready to entertain you.’ 

“ ‘ If it ’s all the same to you, Monsieur Gerard, that we 
shall attack the chateau of our Seigneur, we will avail our- 
selves of your permission/ answered the orator of the troop. 

“ ‘ Well then, it’s all agreed, my grateful friends/ said I, 
‘ choose your time ; on my part I shall take my precautions.’ 

“ The night after I had received this singular deputation, 
there arrived at the chateau one of the cavaliers of the Count’s 
reuiment. As no one had seen this man enter, I availed 
myself of the circumstance to spread abroad a report, that a 
detachment of thirty cavaliers, commanded by an officer of 
the regiment, had arrived at Grand-boeuf. To give more 
likelihood to this report, I ordered the cavalier, whenever he 
perceived peasants in the neighborhood, to show himself as 
much as possible. 

“ The garrison I commanded, was composed in all of four- 
teen men. We were in no want of arms: our arsenal contained 
sixty double-barreled fire-arms, besides one piece of artillery 
carrying a pound ball, and on the use of which we reckoned much. 


150 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ One afternoon we were going to sit down to table, when the 
sentinel came to warn us that the peasants were marching 
upon the chateau. On running to see, I beheld at least four 
thousand men, armed with pikes, scythes, and muskets, who 
were advancing with shouts toward us. As we had been for 
a long time preparing to sustain a siege, we had only to repair 
to our posts, and await the enemy. Not willing to neglect any 
means, I presented myself at the iron gate of the court of 
honor, to enter into a parley. The peasants immediately sur- 
rounded me. 

“ ‘ My friends,’ said I, ‘ I have to caution you that we have 
decided, if the fortune of war turns against us, to blow ourselves 
up ! Ten barrels of powder are stowed away in the cellars. 
See what you have to expect ! ’ 

“ Unfortunately, my threat, not having reached the extrem- 
ities of the crowd, the distant ranks pressed forward. I then 
sought to regain my post, but the peasants detained me. 

I am very sorry to occasion you any uneasiness, citizen 
Gerard,’ said one of the chiefs, * for really you are not a bad 
lad; but you must have the goodness now to let us shoot you! 
You understand that we are not such fools as to release so 
brave a man as you ! ’ 

‘“My friends,’ said I, ‘I see it is impossible to offer any 
resistance; let me return to my garrison, and try to prevail 
on them to lay down their arms. Promise me to respect the 
life of my sixty men, and I engage that they will abandon the 
chateau without defending it.’ 

“ M y proposal was accepted, and they left me to withdraw 
safe and sound. My thirteen companions waited my return 
with great anxiety. 

“ ‘ Comrades,’ said I, * the peasants will grant us neither 
truce nor mercy. Let us defend ourselves, therefore, with 
the energy of despair, and if we must fall, let us not die 
unrevenged ! ’ 


COUNCIL OF WAR. 


151 


tl I had scarcely finished my address, when the assailants, 
enraged at seeing that we did not open the gates, uttered loud 
cries, and advanced to the assault, and a discharge of musketry 
sent thirty balls against the walls of the chateau. 

“ * Fire, on all sides ! ’ cried I. 

“ Immediately the windows of the chateau were lighted up 
with a girdle of flame. The cries of rage and grief which 
arose from the ranks of the besiegers, proved that our reply 
had taken effect. 

“This first success put the peasants to flight; but having 
recovered from their panic, they soon resumed the attack. 

“ I shall pass by the several episodes of this battle, which 
lasted till the end of the day. Thanks to the excellent posi- 
tion we occupied, not one of us was wounded, except the 
ex-steward, who received a ball in the shoulder, while thirty 
of the enemy had fallen. 

“ Night came, and fatigued with the inutility of their 
efforts, the peasants, a little before sun-rise, withdrew from 
the chateau. 

“ We were thus victorious ; but, alas! it was evident that 
the vassals, instigated by the spirit of revenge and the hope 
of pillage, would not cease their hostilities. 

“ Two days passed in a profound peace and tranquillity, and 
I began to comfort myself with the idea that we had got rid 
j of our enemies, when, on the third day — a Sunday — we saw 
1 them return, still more numerous than ever. This second as- 
sault was much more bloody than the first: we had the utmost 
difficulty in repulsing the peasants, who, intoxicated with brandy 
and rage, were killed in numbers at the foot of the walls. 

“ Thanks to a discharge of old nails, which we fired from 
our piece of artillery point blank upon them, we cleared not 
only the grand avenue, but the park of the chateau. * 

“ An old housekeeper whose great age prevented her from 
following the Count abroad, beat the drum furiously during 
7 


152 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the whole of the attack, and made such a noise that the 
peasants withdrew, convinced that the chateau was defended 
by more troops than I had confessed to them. 

« At length our ammunition failed, and we were forced to 
hold a council of war. It was proposed that we should take 
our sabres, and cut a passage through the enemy. I strongly 
represented that it was folly to think of cutting a passage 
through four thousand men. ‘ My friends,’ cried I, after 
reflecting a few moments, ‘ dress yourselves like peasants, cut 
off your beards, exchange your boots and shoes for wooden 
clogs, and hold yourselves ready to execute my orders.’ 

“ They all obeyed without hesitation. The old housekeeper 
alone came to me, and in a piteous voice : ‘ What is to become 
of me, Gerard ? ’ said she. 

“ 4 Faith, good mother,’ answered I, 4 you must remain in 
the chateau, to do the honors to these gentlemen. It is at 
least impossible, unless they should be cannibals, that they 
would not respect your sex and age.’ 

44 My comrades soon returned, so well disguised that a 
practised eye would not have detected them. 

“ ‘ Now, my friends,’ said I to them, ‘ follow my orders ! 
.You, Gervais, go and open softly the iron gate of the grand 
avenue, and the gate of the inner court. Mind — if you let 
yourself be seen, all is lost.’ 

44 After a suspense of a quarter of an hour, Gervais returned, 
assuring me that he had opened the iron gate of the avenue 
and the door of the inner court without being perceived. 

“ 4 Now,’ said I, ‘ load our little piece of cannon with old 
iron to the muzzle, and take it to the vestibule.’ 

“ 4 And what then, commander ? ’ demanded the cavalier. 

“ 4 Then place yourselves'in three ranks in the vestibule, 
behind the piece of cannon, and wait my orders.’ 

“We soon saw the peasants advance in a crowd, and with- 
out any kind of precaution; the hinder ones pushed on the 


THE CHATEAU ON FIRE. 


153 


foremost, and in less than five minutes the court-yard was so 
crowded that they were unable to act 

“ ‘ Fire! ’ cried I, opening the door of the vestibule. 

“At that instant twenty-five musket shots were fired; the 
fish-guard let loose a dozen furious bull-dogs, and our cannon 
sent its volley of old iron. Never was panic more complete; 
mad with affright, they trod one another under foot, and mas- 
sacred each other without pity. 

“ ‘ Come, comrades,’ said I, ‘the moment for saving our- 
selves is come; let us mix with this crowd, and let each take 
his own course. Good bye, and may God protect you ! Suiting 
the action to the word, I threw myself among the peasants, 
and soon opened myself a passage. In another hour, sheltered 
in a wood two leagues from the chateau, I perceived an im- 
mense sheet of flame, which rose to heaven. It was a fire of 
revolutionary joy ; the ancient manor of the Counts de Grand- 
boeuf was burned by their vassals, amidst cries of ‘ Vive la 
liberie , Veqalite et la fralernite ! * 

“You may easily imagine what I suffered during the week 
that followed the burning of the chateau ; not daring to adven- 
ture myself out of the wood in which I had taken refflge, for 
fear of falling into the hands of my enemies, I had to suffer all 
the horrors of hunger, thirst, and solitude. As soon as I dared, 
I abandoned the environs of the village and fled straight on, 
commending myself to God. Sleeping at nights in the ditches 
or the woods, and hiding myself in the bushes during the day, 
I led for many months the most painful and frightful life that 
can be conceived. Exasperated at length by being tracked 
like a wild beast, I resolved to return evil for evil, and thus 
revenge myself. I began to make war on my own account 
against the republicans; woe to the belated soldier who passed 
within range of my firelock, which I had procured! Woe 
to the sans-culotte whom my arms could reach ! Both disap- 
peared for ever from the world!” 


154 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


‘‘So,” cried I, interrupting him, “when you had surprised 
me the first time, near this ruinous chateau, your intention 
was, — ” 

“ To kill you, certainly ! ” answered Gerard. “ Without the 
intervention of Edmond, you would now be no more.” 

I requested him to proceed with his recital. 

“I am come to the end,” said he. “One day, a happy 
chance placed me upon the steps of Edmond, who was also 
pursued, and I was fortunate enough to be of some utility to 
him.” 

“ That is to say, that without your help I should have been 
taken and guillotined, Gerard,” answered Edmond. 

“I believe it,” resumed the quarter-master, continuing to 
address me. “ To start from that moment, sir, my existence, 
although still troubled enough, changed its aspect. I had a 
fiiend, and one upon whom I could depend! Judge then of 
my joy ! Edmond and I at once concluded a defensive alliance; 
and we promised each other mutual help whatever were the 
forces that came to attack us. I may add, without boasting, 
that we have both faithfully kept the engagement. This, sir, 
is the whole of my history.” 

“ I thank you for your complaisance ; your recital has ex- 
ceedingly interested me. Now, let us not waste time, but 
consider in what way I can be useful to you. Would you have 
a great repugnance to take service again in the army? ” 

“ What a curious idea ! ” 

“Not so curious! It is the only means of getting for ever 
out of your dangerous and false position. Follow me boldly 
to Grasse. I will present you to my commander, as one of 
my comrades of infancy; he will incorporate you in our ba- 
ttalion ; and when once you shall have the republican uniform 
upon your back, I will consent to be shot if ever they think of 
asking you who you are, or where you came from.” 

The idea of quitting Edmond produced such an effect upon 


THE CAMP AT SAOEGIO. 


155 


Gerard, that at the instant he was upon the point of refusing 
my offer; he could not bring himself to think of separating 
from his friend. At last, after much hesitation, and when 
Edmond had repeated many times that, being himself about 
to emigrate, his refusal would leave only a few days for their 
being together, Gerard concluded to listen to the voice of rea- 
son, and consented to follow me. 

Gerard and I entered into Grasse about night-fall. The 
excellent Verdier received us with open arms, and applauded 
Gerard much for the steps he had taken. 

The next morning I went to find my commander, and pre- 
sented the ex-quarter-master to him as an excellent acquisition 
to our battalion. My superior eagerly accepted his services. 
The same evening, Gerard, accoutred as a soldier, promenaded 
the city of Grasse, where, if he had been taken the night pre- 
vious, he would have been guillotined. 

A week afterward the order came for our battalion to march 
for the camp at Saorgio. The battalion was to set out the next 
morning, and I was occupied in conversing with my host, when 
Anselme came to look for me. 

“Ah ! there you are, deserter,” cried I ; “ you have neglected 
me greatly for some time! Are you fallen in love?” 

“In love! ” repeated Anselme, shrugging his shoulders, “no, 
my friend, I am not in love, but I wish I had a fever.” 

“ That ’a a comical desire ! In what respect would that 
serve you ? ” 

“Just to obtain leave of absence, or rather to reform me.” 

“Does the service then lie so heavy on you, that you would 
sacrifice your health to get away from it? ” 

“The military service, properly speaking, is quite to my taste. 
What makes me so much desire to recover my liberty, is the 
shame I feel in thinking who are the people whom I serve.” 

“France, Anselme.” 

“ Do you call it serving France to protect a scaffold upon 


156 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


which a martyr is sacrificed ? Since the execution of sister 
Agatha, I have not enjoyed an instant of repose; it appears to 
me that I have taken part with her assassins ! ” 

“What do you wish to do? what profession do you intend 
to embrace ? ” 

“I intend to remain what I am, that is, a soldier; but I wish 
to efface the blue and the red from my cockade, and serve the 
white.” 

“Then you will go to join the princes abroad?” 

“No! ” cried Anselme quickly, “I want rather to fight with 
Frenchmen against Frenchmen. It appears that La Vendee 
and La Bretagne, far from yielding basely like the rest of 
France, resist the unclean tyranny of Robespierre and St. Just. 
I shall go to I# Vendee or La Bretagne. But let us defer 
this subject.” 

The thought of quitting Grasse pleased me greatly; one 
thing alone gave me pain, which was the separation from my 
excellent host, for whom I had conceived a warm and hearty 
friendship. 

The next morning it was scarcely daylight, when the batta- 
lion gathered upon the grand square, and began their march 
to the sound of the drums; by seven o’clock we were nearly 
two leagues from the city of Grasse. 

I do n’t intend to describe, step by step, the march of the 
battalion from Grasse to Lantosque, the last village we entered, 
before reaching the camp at Saorgio, from which it was about 
two hours’ march distant. Still, I cannot pass over in silence 
the impression of deep sorrow produced in me by the sad and 
desolate aspect of the country; on all sides we saw only cot- 
tages in ruins, houses burned, granges riddled with balls or the 
hatchets of the military. Flocks there were none ! The inhab- 
itants, on taking flight, had driven off their cattle. The wea- 
ther was beautiful; the emerald carpet that spread itself to 
the sun, the flowers which cast to the winds their sweet per- 


• I SMELL POWDER. 


157 


fumes, formed, with this abandonment and melancholy silence, 
a painful and striking contrast. 

Anselme undertook the business of foraging. Sometimes he 
procured a pullet ; at others, a piece of beef, or a slice of a 
horse; and, in short, our improvised camp* table was never 
empty. The ravens who scented carnage produced by the 
horrors of war, and seemed to have acquired a rendezvous in 
the boundaries of the camp, were not disdained by Anselme, 
who knew where to find a savory part in them. He called 
them “black partridges!” We had slept about an hour in the 
abandoned cottages of Lantosque, when the report of cannon 
growling in the distance reached us. This was the first time 
I had heard the roar of battle; I could not resist a certain 
sensation. 

‘‘Do you know, Anselme,” said I, “that I have never yet 
witnessed an engagement! It seems to me, that the first time 
I shall make a pitiful appearance.” 

“ Bah ! ” said Anselme, “ you will do as everybody else does : 
begin by being afraid of the bullets, and end by not regarding 
them.” 

“ Does not the noise of the cannon hinder you from sleep- 
ing?” A hollow snoring from my comrade, replied to my 
question. 

The next morning we began our march for the^camp at 
Saorgio, where we arrived in two hours. An immense red cap, 
hung at the top of a pole, rose by the side of a tent occupied 
by the general, and served for a flag at the head-quarters. 

Never shall I forget the picturesque aspect the camp pre- 
sented. Nothing could be seen but ghastly figures, whose 
clothing fell in shreds, and rusty arms. 

We learned that a sharp engagement had taken place the 
evening before with the Piedmontese, and that fifty of our 
soldiers were left dead on the field of battle. On passing near 
a tent, or to speak more correctly, an old piece of linen stretched 


158 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


over four stakes, which rose five feet above the ground, I heard 
cries and groans that froze the blood in my veins. 

“What’s passing there?” asked I of a soldier who came 
out with his arm in a sling, from under the cloth. 

“That is the dressing room of the people who were slashed 
last night during the engagement with the Piedmontese, and 
they are setting them to rights,” said he. 

In the afternoon the general passed us in review. In con- 
, science he could not praise our appearance, nor did he indeed 
make any remarks upon it; but he enlarged much upon our 
courage and patriotism, praised us for the resolution we had 
formed of dying rather than surrender, — a resolution be it said 
in passing, that had never been thought of, — and finished by 
interlarding the word “country” with that of “tyrants” with 
such skill, that although that part of his speech was entirely 
destitute of sense, we were electrified, and applauded it with 
enthusiasm. He had scarcely finished his harangue, when 
one of his aids-de-camp came to warn him that a corps of Pied- 
montese was ambushed in the wood that bordered on the camp. 

“Soldiers!” cried the general, “considering the time you 
have lost, I will give you the preference in going to reconnoitre 
the enemy. It is a mission both difficult and dangerous to ful- 
fill ; show yourselves therefore, by your conduct, worthy of the 
favor I have granted you.” 

The general then spoke a few words to our commander; 
after which he set off at a gallop. 

“Adjutant!” cried our commander, addressing himself to 
me, “ your promotion has been rapid, and you will hasten to 
win the epaulet you wear. Take thirty men with you, and go 
and Reconnoitre the enemy.” 

A cold shudder passed through me, and I remained straight 
and motionless as a statue, without knowing what to answer. 

“Are these men that are demanded, to be volunteers ? ” said 
I, addressing the commander. 


THE COMBAT. 


159 


“Yes, volunteers are required, for I don’t wish to excite 
jealousy.” 

I then turned to the battalion, and in a voice which I tried 
to render strong and composed, said: “Who will volunteer 
and come with me ? ” 

“I!” cried Anselrae, shouting aloud. 

“I! I!” repeated, in chorus, the five hundred men of the 
battalion. 

Five minutes after, I set out at the head of thirty stout men 
to reconnoitre and beat out, if possible, the corps of the enemy 
whose presence in the wood in the vicinity of the camp had 
been announced to us. The borders of the wood into which 
we entered were covered with underwood, — thin, but thick 
enough to hide an ambuscade. I therefore ordered my men 
to deploy singly in order to cover the greatest possible extent 
of ground. 

Scarcely had this order been executed, than a discharge 
of musketry took place, and a soldier near me, struck by 
a ball, fell covered with blood at my feet Some suspicious 
whistling sung in the air near me, and made me shake. 

“Don’t mind them,” said Anselme, “they are bullets: 
command us to advance.” 

“Come, my lads,” cried I, “be firm, charge these slaves, 
these satellites! Forward, children of the country!” 

The men obeyed my orders with unparalleled enthusiasm. 
Darting upon the Piedmontese before they had time to re-load, 
we charged them boldly with the bayonet. The issue of the 
combat was not long in suspense. In less than five minutes 
we had killed two men, wounded seven others, made five pri- 
soners, and put the rest to flight. We were conquerors! 

Having secured our prisoners, we took our route back to the 
camp ; but before leaving the spot, I ordered the men to con- 
struct a litter to transport the wounded. 

“Don’t trouble yourself about those slaves of the king, 
7 * 


160 


N0TE3 OF A VOLUNTEER. 


adjutant,” answered an old sergeant, wlio formed part of my 
detachment; “leave them to me.” 

“ Very well, sergeant, I shall trust to you, to see them taken 
to the camp.” 

The sub-officer smiled in a significant manner, and went away 
without saying a word. I was about to sound a retreat, when 
several musket shots which sounded from behind a bush at a 
few paces from where I stood, made me tremble ; I thought 
it was a surprise. 

“Give no heed to it,” said Anselme, “they are the prisoners 
whom they have sent off.” 

“How!” cried I, “what do you mean by that?” 

“ I mean that the sergeant has shot the wounded men.” 

“ Horrible and infamous ! Can it be possible ? ” 

“ Come, do n’t put yourself out for such a trifling matter,” 
said Anselme ; “ what is done is a thing that occurs every day ! 
Hay, you may knit your brows, and bite your lips, but you 
will never change the character of war; we must learn to 
accustom ourselves to cruelties which we are unable to pre- 
vent How, if you think proper, command the retreat” 

Whilst we were returning to the camp, we conversed about 
the skirmish. 

“Faith, officer,” said a young corporal who saw fire for the 
first time, “ I will bet that you have had an affair with more 
than a hundred men!” 

“ Hold your tongue,” said the old sergeant, shrugging his 
shoulders ; “ you do n’t know what you are talking about ; I 
am certain that the Piedmontese were our inferior in numbers.” 

“Ah ! then, sergeant, that ’s a little too strong ! what was 
the number of the enemy, according to your opinion ? ” 

“Twenty -five or thirty men at most; we were nearly of 
equal strength.” 

This answer which considerably abated my triumph, did 
not please me much ; and ordering one of my Piedmontese 


LIFE IN THE CAMP. 


161 


prisoners to come to me ; “ How many were you when you 
attacked us ? ” I asked. 

“ We were nineteen men,” answered he; “you have killed 
nine of them, five are prisoners, and five have saved themselves ; 
that accounts for the whole.” 

This very exact information dissipated a little the vapors 
of vanity which got into my brain, but it did not wholly 
deprive me of the pleasure of victory. 

The life we led in the camp was far from agreeable; the 
provisions we received, insufficient and of bad quality, only 
half supplied our wants. Our equipments and dress were 
stilJ worse. 

After the first two months in which I led this rough life of 
a soldier, I became accustomed to a camp life. Night sur- 
prises, skirmishes, and mounting guard, no longer caused 
that sensation which I had experienced at the commencement. 

One morning at the distribution of the rations, we found, 
to our great disappointment, that a convoy upon which we 
reckoned, had been intercepted by the enemy, and that we 
must pass the day without eating. As for several days already 
our rations had been pared down to the starving point, and we 
were reduced to the pangs of hunger, this news caused a con- 
siderable effervescence among us. One poor fellow, a grenadier 
of the name of Noireau, endowed with a huge appetite, inca- 
pable of longer supporting such stern abstinence, was arrested 
in an attempt at desertion. 

Immediately a council of war assembled, and Noireau was 
condemned to be shot. My bad star ordered it that I was 
commanded to carry the sentence into execution. 

When I went to find him in the tent which served for a 
prison, Noireau guessed that I was a messenger of death. 

“ Alas ! adjutant,” said he, “ you are come then to conduct 
me to the place of execution.” 

“ You have guessed right, my poor Noireau,” I answered. 


162 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


« I am, in fact, charged with warning you that you have only 
an hour to live, and to ask if you have any last arrangements 
to make.” 

“ Thanks, my good officer ; but how do you suppose a poor 
wretch like me, can have any arrangements to make ? ” 

“ Then good bye, Noireau, — have courage.” 

I was about leaving, when the prisoner seized my by the arm, 
and with a look half of shame and half of entreaty: “ I want, 
adjutant,” said he, “to put a question to you; but I dare not.” 

“ Speak, my friend, and be assured I will do what I can for 
you.” 

“ Is it true, adjutant, that when a man is condemned to 
death, they grant him before execution whatever he asks, 
pardon excepted ? ” 

“Yes, Noireau; that’s the custom.” 

“ Well, then,” resumed the grenadier quickly, “ if I require 
them to serve me a good dinner ? ” 

“ They shall do all they can to satisfy you.” 

“Well, then, quick! Let us have the promised dinner, 
adjutant.” 

Thanks to my zeal, I procured for Noireau a sumptuous 
dinner; namely, a slice of a roasted horse, twenty chestnuts, 
two apples, half a pound of bread, and half a pint of brandy. 

The convict had finished his dinner, when, at the head of 
a platoon charged with his execution, I presented myself before 
him. I found him in high spirits. 

“ Faith, officer,” said he, “ I have not perhaps acted so 
foolishly in deserting; this morning is one of the best in my 
life! I regret only one thing; that I can’t retain the recollec- 
„ tion of it longer. Come, I am not so much to be pitied ; I 
have had a capital breakfast this morning ! My mother died 
two years back, and will not feel the counter blow of my 
execution. Nothing retains me here below; adieu, adjutant, 
and many thanks for your kindness ! ” 


THE PIEDMONTESE. 


163 


Immediately after, five musket-shots were heard, and 
Noireau fell with his face to the ground. In a few minutes, a 
little mound, scarcely visible above the ground, showed that 
the pioneers had, in their turn, fulfilled their sad task in this 
melancholy drama. 

Toward the middle of Prairial , we received the order one 
night, to hold ourselves ready the next morning to take our 
soup at seven o’clock, and we conjectured that some important 
expedition was on foot; nor were we mistaken. The next 
day, toward eight o’clock, we were on march with seven other 
battalions. 

By three o’clock in the afternoon we arrived at the entrance 
of a beautiful valley, crowned on the right and left with a 
copse of oaks. Our division separated in two corps, nearly 
equal, and went to occupy the two sides. As to our battalion, 
we entered the coppice with orders to preserve the most pro- 
found silence, as we were placed in ambuscade. 

When the sun rose above the horizon, we were worn down 
with fatigue. It had rained during the night, and the leaves 
of the trees, covered with drops of water, shone in the sun’s 
rays like caskets of diamonds. Aromatic plants and flowers 
exhaled delicious perfumes, which plunged us in a kind of 
soft intoxication. I was gazing on the landscape, when a 
strong pressure on the arm recalled me to the sentiment of 
real life. 

“ Look ! ” said Anselme, “ there ’s the enemy ! ” 

In fact at that moment a numerous corps of Piedmontese 
debouched at a distance of less than a mile. There were 
about fifteen hundred men. 

The Piedmontese made their way cheerfully: the noise of 
their songs reached us, and I cannot express the deep pity I 
felt at that moment for those unfortunate people. All at 
once,, the signal of attack was given. From the woods right 
and left issued a formidable discharge of musketry. Cries of 


164 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


despair and affright took the place of the songs, and a number 
of the Piedmontese were stretched bleeding on the ground. 

Recovering from their surprise, they endeavored to effect 
a retreat, but the outlets of the valley were occupied, and 
everywhere a shower of balls met the attempt. Already the 
ranks were exposed to our view, when the order was given to 
charge them with the bayonet. 

We threw ourselves upon the enemy with the bayonet. 
The Piedmontese, finding that all was lost, defended themselves 
with heroic bravery, and resigning themselves to death, thought 
only of revenge. The recollection of that hour of carnage 
follows me still at times in my sleep, and never will it be 
erased from my memory ! 

It was only after an hour of butchery, — for I cannot find a 
more appropriate word, — and when about a thousand Piedmon- 
tese corpses were lying at our feet, that I recovered my self 
possession. 

As soon as my blood was cooled and recollection returned, 
my first thought was of Anselme. In vain I sought my 
friend ; in vain I ran through the ranks which began to re-form, 
nowhere could I find Anselme. I ran at last in despair to 
the surgeon’s quarters, which had been improvised for the 
purpose of relieving the wounded. 

Alas! the first person I perceived, was Anselme 1 A sur- 
geon kneeling before him, shaking his head with an aspect of 
doubt, was sounding a deep wound which he had received in 
the breast. 

“ Do you think him in danger ? ” I asked anxiously of the 
surgeon. He regarded me with a sharp expression, and then 
with the phlegm peculiar to his profession, replied, “ Had not 
you better ask me, adjutant, if he is dead ? ” 

“ So then,” cried I in despair, “Anselme is lost!” 

“ So far lost,” replied he, “ that I am going to lay him aside, 
and employ myself about other wounded. If you wish to have 


ANSELME WOUNDED. 


165 


him buried, faith, you are welcome ta do it. He is not really 
dead, but it is all the same.” 

“ This barbarous reply exasperated me. “ Citizen,’’ said I, 
il I insist, do you hear, that you employ yourself about my 
friend ! ” 

The surgeon judged it more prudent to obey than discuss. 
He unclasped the uniform of Anselme, and drawing a probe 
from his case, he searched for the ball that had entered his 
breast. 

“ It is really lost trouble to attempt the extraction of this 
projectile,” said he, shrugging his shoulders. 

“ l)o it, however,” cried I. 

The surgeon commenced the operation. 

“ Well,” said I, feeling myself ready to faint. 

“ Well, here’s the ball,” replied he, showing me a small 
piece of lead of an irregular form. “ Still it does not follow 
that the subject is out of danger. My opinion is, that he has 
only a few hours to live.” He then bandaged the wound. 

The sound of the drum called me away from my friend, 
and I returned to my post, recommending Anselme to one of 
our friends, who promised to watch over him. 

We were about to commence our march to regain the camp, 
when I received an order from our chief of battalion to remain 
with a company, to overlook and protect the pioneers charged 
with the interment of the dead. 

This mission gave me great pleasure, as it would allow me 
to remain near Anselme, whose desperate condition prevented 
his being transported to the camp. A car was sent for the 
use of the wounded committed to my care, and a surgeon was 
left with me. 

The pione’ers placed under my orders were actively engaged 
in removing the traces of the conflict. Some armed with 
mattocks, dug immense trenches to receive the victims of the 
day : others stripped the bodies. On all sides were heaps of 


166 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


shirts, gaiters, hats, muskets, cartouch boxes, and clothes, the 
spoil both of the Piedmontese and the French mingled in this 
scene of death. 

One circumstance which with me was a cause of deep 
emotion, was the gayety displayed by these pioneers in execut- 
ing their sad office, which they enlivened with frivolous and 
indecent songs, and ill-timed jests. 

Night began already to envelope us in darkness, when three 
cars arrived, sent from the camp to transport the wounded. 
Although my men and myself were greatly fatigued, I resolved 
to march at once, for I was anxious to see Anselme well 
provided for. 

During the following fortnight, Anselme’s condition remained 
nearly the same — between life and death. Every morning 
on going to see him I expected to find only a corpse, and 
it grieved me to reflect upon this sad termination of his 
sufferings. 

At last, with the help of nature, for the care that my poor 
friend received was almost nothing, a slight improvement was 
apparent; and a week after, by the effort of a strong constitu- 
tion, he became out of danger. All the time I could spare 
from my duties, I passed with him, and the diversion of mind 
our conversation occasioned hastened his recovery. 

“ Well, my friend,” said he, “ you see God has worked a 
miracle in my favor, to reward me for my good intentions. 
If they were to offer me a million to induce me to abandon 
my plan, I would refuse it without hesitation.” 

“ Then, as soon as you recover your strength you will set 
out for La Vendee?” 

“ Even before that; as soon as I can drag myself away 
without danger. I shall gain strength on my route.” 

“I think your determination wrong; but you seem so re- 
solved to carry it into effect, that I no longer dare combat it.” 

I resolved, come what might, not to remain with the army 


MY FURLOUGH. 


167 


after Anselme had left, and concerted with him the means of 
getting away. I commenced by procuring from the surgeon 
with whom I became acquainted in the rounds, a certificate 
which I presented to our commandant, to whom I stated that 
having been attacked by chronic rheumatism, it was impossible 
for me to continue in the service. I shall omit the detail of the 
steps I took, and the mortifications to which I had to submit, 
before I could get access to the general. At last, after eight 
days of maneuvering and solicitation, my request was attended, 
and the general sent for me. 

“Adjutant,” said he, “you solicit leave of absence on account 
of indisposition, and you have produced a certificate from a 
doctor in support of your pretensions. I only believe what I 
see : show me your disorder.” 

“But, general, it is rheumatism!” 

“That’s nothing; show me your rheumatism then. 

I had a great deal of trouble in explaining to the general 
that what he required of me w T as impossible. It w'as not till he 
learned that I had an uncle who had been nominated a repre- 
sentative, that the general began to give me credit for sickness. 
Then seeming to emerge from his reflections, he said in an ami- 
cable way: 

“After all, if the rheumatism cannot be proved, I suppose 
I must act upon the surgeon’s certificate. See, here ’s a leave 
of absence for three months.” 

I took the paper with as much eagerness as pleasure, and 
ran to Anselme to announce to him the happy news. The next 
morning, without further delay, I set out, after taking an affec- 
tionate and painful farewell of my friend. 

“ Farewell,” said he, “ do not forget that you have a friend 
in me, devoted till death. But who knows, perhaps we shall 
meet again sooner than you think.” 

An hour after, I fled, rather than left the camp, so fearful 
was I that a counter order might still retain me under the flag. 


163 


N0TE3 OF A VOLUNTEER. 


It was not till I had cleared at least a league, that I stopped to 
recover breath. 

At four o’clock in the afternoon I reached the little village 
of Messino, and at once entered an indifferent inn, — the only 
one in the place, — which appeared to me, in comparison with 
the camp I had just quitted, a sumptuous dwelling. There I 
dined at my ease, and slept, the first time for many weeks, in 
a comfortable bed. 

The next morning, I left Messino, and passed through seve- 
ral villages, the inhabitants of which, being Piedmontese, had, 
within the year, become, by the fate of arms, French citizens. 
I met with several going to market to sell their vegetables and 
fruit. On perceiving me they began crying at the top of their 
voices: “ Long live the republic ! Long live equality ! ” 

From Menton, where I arrived the same day, I went to 
Nice. I hoped to find in that city, Italian manners and gayety ; 
but I was cruelly deceived in my hopes. Invaded by our 
armies, Nice resounded from morning to night with the beat 
of the drum, and its villas, disfigured with decrees and procla- 
mations, resembled so many clubs. I hastened to quit it as 
soon as possible. From Nice to Grasse, no new incident oc- 
curred on my route, and I entered the latter city before day- 
break. My first care was to proceed to the house of Yerdier. 
Judge of my astonishment and disappointment, when instead of 
the stylish front of his shop, I perceived it black and dirty, 
covered with dust, charcoal, and stains of smoke ! The door 
being wide open, I at once entered. 

“Citizen Yerdier ! ” cried I, in a loud voice, on seeing no one. 

“Here he is, at your service, citizen,” replied a familiar voice. 
A man then came toward me, who, from his shabby appearance, 
I took for a workman. A moustache, bristling for want of culr 
ture, like that of an angry cat, and a face well bronzed, were 
the first things I noticed in casting my eyes on the speaker. 

“ Citizen Yerdier ! ” repeated I, gazing earnestly at him. He 


THE PERFUMER. 


169 


>io 

*■ 

ilj: 

itlg 

I 


threw himself into my arms, and embraced me warmly, crying, 
“What! don’t you know me, friend? Am I then so much 
altered ? ” 

The surprise this metamorphosis produced in me was such, 
that I remained a moment stunned, and could not pronounce 
a word. 


ii'i “ What, Yerdier ! Is it you?” cried I at last, recovering a 
. little my presence of mind ; “ what has happened ? and what 
-• is become of your perfumery shop ? ” 

t “You well know,” said Yerdier, lowering his voice, “that my 
s. two rivals, the perfumers, elected members of the committee 
1 of the popular society, desire to see me quit my trade. I 
r have been compelled to conform to their secret wish.” 

“Ah, I recollect ; but what profession do you exercise now ? ” 

“I am a saltpetre manufacturer.” 

“A saltpetre manufacturer ! What a queer idea that is of 
yours ! ” 

“It is the love of my country that has inspired me in this 
affair,” answered Yerdier, raising his voice, as if he wished to 
be heard at a distance. “Saltpetre, converted into gun-pow- 
der, represents the glory of the republic, and the humiliation 
of the aristocrats ; that ’s why I am a saltpetre maker.” 

The more I heard and saw of Yerdier, the more my astonish- 
ment increased. “My dear Verdier,” said I, “I am terribly 
fatigued, and I wish much to sit down. If we pass into your 
parlor we can converse more at our ease.” As the localities 
of the house were known to me, I did not wait for my friend’s 
answer, but went toward the parlor. On entering the old back 
shop; I found a dozen workmen, who were employed extract- 
ing saltpetre. 

“My friends,” said Yerdier, indicating me to them by a motion 
of his hand, “here’s a true sans-culotte, just returned from the 
army, whom I introduce to you.” 

“A sans-culotte never returned from the army ! ” cried one 


170 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


of the workmen, looking toward me, and shrugging his should 
ders, with an expression of contempt. 

“Why so, citizen?” demanded I, coldly, repressing the anger 
his insolence raised in me. 

“ Because a good citizen never turns his back on the enemy ; ^ 
at least, however, if his cowardice — ” 

“Enough, scoundrel, hold your tongue!” said I, not being; a 
able to contain myself any longer. 

Yerdier, fearing an altercation, thrust himself between the; 
workman and me. At the word scoundrel, which I had ad- a 
dressed to the man who had so gratuitously insulted me, his! 1 
comrades were advancing toward me with a threatening aspect. 1 
Laying my hand immediately upon the hilt of my weapon, I c 
exclaimed, “Hold! the first who takes a step more is a dead ^ 
man ! ” i 1 

At this threat, the workmen stopped, and Yerdier hastening 1 
to speak: “My dear friend,” said he, “why put yourself out 
thus ? These citizens who work for their country are free to 1 
express their opinions! You are wrong, my friend; you are 
wrong; recover yourself, I entreat you, and do not forget the 
sublime words inscribed at the head of the constitution, — ‘Lib- 
erty, Equality, Fraternity !’ ” 

I confess that, on seeing Yerdier, thus cowardlike, taking the 
part of my enemies against me, the strong affection I felt for 
him at once disappeared, and was replaced by a feeling of com- 
miseration and contempt. Addressing myself, therefore, to the 
workman who had so grossly apostrophised me, “ It becomes 
you well, scoundrel, to talk of war, you who have never seen 
any other fire than that of a furnace ! Scoundrel ! to teach 1 
you to speak another time with more moderation, I shall de- 1 
nounce you for your conduct to the committee of public 
safety!” 

“Citizen,” answered he, disdainfully, “we are too poor to bo i 
afraid of the committee of public safety ; it can do nothing 


THE WARNING. l7l 

4 Against us. The revolution has been effected for our advan- 
\ itage. We despise your denunciation.” 

>ej “ If that ’s the case,” cried I, “I shall go to the guard-house 
and acquaint my comrades that there is, at the house of citizen 
ijj Yerdier, not saltpetre works, but a manufacture of defamation 
and injuries toward the soldiers of the republic. You are 
ng above the laws! Be it so! We shall see if you will brave the 
swords of the defenders of the country.” 
te This threat impressed the workmen much more strongly, 
j. and I think it was not without a certain degree of pleasure, 
j 8 that they heard their employer entreat me not to follow up 
t this proposition — to which I at length consented with a show 
j of reluctance. “I have forgiven you,” said I, “no blood has 
1 been shed ; but I swear to you that this is the last time I will 
allow my comrades, the defenders of the country, to be calum- 
niated with impunity! Consider yourself warned.” 

After making this answer in a solemn tone, I left the back 
shop in a majestic step. 

Yerdier’s garden, which I crossed to come at the parlor, pre- 
sented a scene of the most complete devastation. A few 
months before, it was the pride of my host, and was considered 
the richest, in rare plants, of any in the city. Now there was 
: nothing to look at but a bed of potatoes. 

j “You don’t understand this change,” said Yerdier on ob- 
i-serving my astonishment. “Flowers are aristocratic pleasures; 
potatoes feed the unfortunate.” 

“Yerdier! Is it possible that you, -whom I have known so 
| independent, can thus have prostrated yourself before the 
mob!” 

“Lower still!” said the perfumer, lowering his voice; “wait 
till we are in the parlor, and I will unfold to you my fate ! ” 

Yerdier, being an old bachelor, prided himself much upon 
the elegance of his interior accommodation ; even his workshop, 
a kind of mysterious retiro , was in perfect harmony with the 


172 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


delicious garden it was necessary to cross in coming to it 
Judge then of my astonishment on reaching this room, at per- 
ceiving no longer any of the elegant furniture which orna- 
mented it on my first stay at Grasse. The paintings on the 
walls had been effaced ; the portraits of the members of the i 
committee of public safety, and those of general safety, ugly, 
and horribly portrayed, formed a most disagreeable gallery, 
among which Robespierre, Marat, and Lepelletier, radiated as 
the three deities, in the midst of this pleiades of parvenue 
assassins. 

“Is it possible, m^ dear Verdier,” said I, sorrowfully, “that 
you can have reached this degree of fear, and, place the word 
to my sincere friendship, moral meanness ? ” 

“Do not despise me,” cried he. “Ah! my friend, believe 
well that my heart is not changed, but my courage has failed. 
That image of the guillotine, the nightmare of my sleeping , 
'hours, and the terror of my days, has made me descend to this 
hypocrisy. I swear that it was not death that frightened me ; 
but the contact with the executioner; the cries and outrage of j 
the multitude; the hatchet covered with blood; the horrible I 
swing board ; the hamper, the inside of which bears the traces 
of the bitings of the heads that have fallen into it, — in a word, 
that ignoble and fearful agony which precedes the death of 
the condemned ! I have suffered so much, that nothing more 
remains for you than the right to pity me ! ” 

There was such poignant grief in his voice, that I had no 
longer the power to accuse him. On the contrary, I attempted 
to inspire him with a little courage. 

After having remained two days at Grasse, I affectionately 
embraced the unfortunate Verdier, and again put myself in 
route. 

I had so often, during the siege, heard speak of the city of 
Toulon, that I had long promised myself, if ever occasion serv- 
ed, to visit it in detail. Although the accomplishment of this 


TOULON. 


173 . 


project would cause me to deviate from my route, I resolved 
to profit by my liberty, and proceed toward that city. 

From Grasse to Toulon, I had to endure numberless priva- 
tions; it is impossible to conceive the formalities, the vexations, 
the delays I was obliged to submit to, to procure a few ounces 
of bread, half mouldy and nearly indigestible. The scarcity 
that prevailed in these provinces was frightful. 

A little before arriving at Toulon I met with two fellow- 
workmen, who, troubling themselves very little about politics, 
and more given to the study of their craft, — that of lock- 
smiths, — were making the tour of France. 

One of these workmen, a young man of twenty-five years 
of age, was a Picard named Antoine. 

“Ah ! there are the city gates,” cried I, on perceiving one 
of the walls of Toulon. “My friends, if you will believe me, 
we shall do well to maintain an absolute silence.” 

“Why so, soldier?” asked Antoiue. 

“Because an observation made by us in jest, and wrongly 
interpreted, might draw upon us serious inconveniences.” 

“Truly!” said Antoine. “Well, so much the worse for the 
authorities, who do n’t know how to distinguish good patriots 
from conspirators! What does it signify to me, if I am not 
afraid of these fools ? I am an honest man, and I say what I 
think.” 

“You are wrong, Antoine,” said the other; “you will end 
by finding yourself involved in some scrape.” 

“Let me alone then, with your silly* fear,” cried Antoine, 
“I shall say what I please! That I am going to retake Toulon 
on my own personal account, for instance, and declare myself 
king of France! ” 

At the moment in which the infatuated locksmith pro- 
nounced these words, a man, wearing a greasy Phrygian cap, 
passed near us. On hearing Antoine, he stopped short, and 
seemed undecided for a moment as to what part he ought to 


174 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


take. “Hold, there’s a spy going to denounce us!” continued 
Antoine, bursting into a laugh. “You will soon take me for 
a Capet.” 

Hot wishing to incur the risk of this imprudent fellow’s soci- 
ety, I took leave of my fellow travelers. 

An hour later, installed in the little dark hotel of the 
Grand Cerf, I waited, in the common dining-room, until they 
brought me the repast I had ordered, when several patriots of 
the city entered. “ Do you know the news ? ” said one of them, 
addressing himself to the hotel keeper. “ It appears that spies 
have entered the city ; and they say, too, that foreign satellites, 
disguised like republican officers and soldiers, are here in great 
numbers.” 

“Is it possible ! ” cried the hotel keeper. “The scoundrels! 
let them be arrested at once.” 

I confess, that although my leave of absence was regular, I 
felt very ill at ease on this 'proposal. Fortunately, I sat retired 
in a corner of the hall, and the darkness hid my confusion. I 
bitterly regretted having yielded to my curiosity in visiting 
Toulon, and I determined to quit that city the next morning, 
if nothing prevented me. 

I was about to retire to the miserable truckle bed in which 
I intended to pass the night, when, all at once, a distant rumor, 
which appeared to proceed from a mob of people, reached us, 
and detained me in the dining room. 

The uproar soon approached the Hotel du Grand Cerf; 
furious exclamations resounded on all sides. 

“Death to traitors! To the lamp-post with the spies! 
Down with the satellites of the tyrants! To the lamp- post! to 
the lamp-post with them ! ” 

Scarcely had these cries reached my ears, when, on looking- 
over the balcony, I perceived two men, bruised and bloody, 
flying before the crowd. One of them, the youngest of the 
two, seriously struck by some missile, advanced with pain and 


THE LOCKSMITHS. 


175 


a violent effort, and I saw that he was lost. In fact I had 
scarcely come to this conclusion, when a bludgeon, flung with 
as much force as precision, struck the unfortunate fugitive in 
the legs, and knocked him down. 

Before he had time to rise,*the crowd, like a pack of hungry 
hounds, flung themselves upon him. In a few seconds, the 
unfortunate man, lifted by twenty arms, was elevated in the 
midst of the crowd. “To the lamp-post with the Piedmontese 
spy!” was shouted on all sides. 

Let the reader judge of my astonishment and agitation, on 
recognizing in the pretented Piedmontese spy, the locksmith, 
Antoine, my traveling companion. My first thought was, to 
raise my voice in his favor; but on reflecting a moment, I 
held my tongue. I am persuaded that if I had undertaken 
the defense of that unfortunate wretch,- my fate would have 
been the same as his. 

“Detestable satellite!” cried one of the orators, “confess 
your treason, and we may perhaps pardon you!” 

“I cannot confess what does not exist,” answered Antoine, 

1 in a voice hoarse from fatigue, grief, and fear. “Why do you 
wish me to acknowledge myself a Piedmontese, when I am a 
I Picard ? ” 

“A coward and knave, as well as traitor!” resumed the ora- 
tor. “Really, citizens, does not this man imitate the Picard 
1 accent to perfection ? Happily, we are too sharp to be taken 
in with such a ruse ! ” 

“But, citizens, but, friends! Hear me, I entreat you,” con- 
tinued the poor locksmith, in a supplicating voice. “Upon my 
honor, upon the head of my mother, I swear that I am innocent !” 

“He persists in his falsehood, the scoundrel!” cried a man 
wearing a cloak, whom I recognized as the same person in 
whose hearing Antoine, from a spirit of bravado and opposition, 
had boasted as he entered the city that he would take Toulon 
alone. “ He persists, the villain ! ” repeated the informer. “Ah, 

' 8 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


176 

well! citizen, I swear by the head of Robespierre, by the altar 
of Liberty, by the Constitution, that I have with my own ears 
heard that satellite boast of retaking Toulon, and of fighting for 
the cause of the Capets. WilL you dare to deny this, you 
wretch ? ” 

“ That was a joke,” answered the locksmith in a dull voice ; 
“I wished to amuse myself at the expense of my companions.” 

“Ah! it was a jest,” resumed 'the orator, with great vehe- 
mence. “In fact the slavery and degradation of the people, 
the triumph of the king, the misery of the peasants, the tythe, 
the vassals’ labor, the rights of the seigneur, are all indeed 
charming jokes for the servants and agents of tyrants ! Ah ! 
to fight for the abhorred family of the Capets appears a joke 
to you ! To retake Toulon is a joke ! Be it so, we also know 
how to joke; and to prove it, we are going to hang you ! ” 

A tempest of cries and shouting followed this speech. 

“ Here’s a rope,” cried a sharp voice at that instant, scream- 
ing above the clamor of the crowd. It was a child, one of 
those hideous vagabonds who, unfortunately, are to be found 
in all great cities : his offer was accepted with loud bravos. 

Then succeeded one of those horrible spectacles, the sight 
of which appears a hideous dream, and the recollection of 
which lasts to the end of life. Antoine, seized by the crowd, 
bfeaten, thrown down, bruised, was noosed by the fatal rope, and 
soon his corpse, hung to the lamp-post, swung quivering in the 
air. As for me, I fled away frightened. 

I learned afterward, how much the punishment of this poor 
innocent man had been cruelly increased. The cord supplied by 
the little vagabond, being only a thick straw-band, was not suf- 
ficiently strong to perform the terrible office they applied it to, 
and the wretched Antoine endured an agony of half an hour. 

It was scarcely daylight next morning, when I descended 
from my garret, and having paid my small bill, made all post 
haste to get away from Toulon. 





CHAPTER VI. 


I enter Marseilles — The Theater in Revolution — My Cousin Jouveau — His Character 

and present Occupation — The Sweets of Political Life — The Illustrious N . 

The Laceman, Lemite — I Dine with the Representative — Revolutionary Viands — • 
The Gilder— Jouveau’ s Petitioners — He refuses to be merciful, and I leave him 
— Feast of Reason at Aix — Adventure of St. Cuna — I am taken for a Great Un- 
known — A Practical Philosopher in an Aristocrat. — I revisit Avignon — Revolu- 
tions — A Company of Honorable Mendicants — I visit Nismes — Fete to the Su- 
preme Being. 

My imagination was so much bewildered and excited by 
this horrible nocturnal scene, that in walking I sung the 
Marseillaise at the top of my voice. I am persuaded that had 
I been asked, I would have cried at that moment, “ Long live 
Robespierre!” It was only on arriving at La Ciotat that I 
recovered^ little the tranquillity of my mind. 

The girl of the inn burst out into a loud laugh when I 
showed her my passport as an invalid. “ I see how it is,” 
said she, “ some serious affair recalls you, without a doubt, into 
the interior. Ah, well ! take my advice, in passing through 
Marseilles, pay a visit to my brother, who is a gilder in that 
city, and he will arrange all that.” 

Not caring to excite her suspicions, I took the letter which 
she intrusted to me for her brother. 

Arrived at Marseilles, I found that that city no longer 
existed! The houses seemed abandoned, and resembled so 
many tombs ; one might believe himself in a colossal cemetery, 
if it were not for hearing, from time to time, the roll of the 
drums. 


178 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


The evening of the same day, I went to walk under the 
Fort St. Jean, where I perceived, through the bars of a low 
window, several suspected persons who where detained there 
and awaited judgment. There was so little hope in the down- 
cast eyes of these unfortunates, so much pallor and suffering in 
their wasted countenances, that I could perceive they antici- 
pated the scaffold. What a capricious thing is the human 
mind! At the moment in which I was almost weeping over 
the fate of these victims,- 1 observed a play bill that announced 
for the same evening the performance of the comedy of Ac- 
to’phile and the Dragon, and the Benedictines. In a few 
minutes after, — explain this action as you please, — I purchased 
a box ticket, and entered the theater. 

Scarcely had I set foot in the play-house, when a powerful 
and nauseous s'mell assailed me; but my curiosity was proof 
even against the disgust occasioned by the emanations of 
garlic that filled the place, and I determined to remain and 
see how the people of this terror-struck city amused themselves. 
I took my place in the pit, in the midst of soldiers, mariners, 
and workmen, and proceeded to light my cigar. 

It was not till after I had become acclimated a little to the 
dense atmosphere which surrounded me, that I could see what 
passed. 

Some of the spectators had found a victim to amuse them- 
selves until the rising of the curtain. He was a stout man, 
clothed in green, having his powdered hair imprisoned in 
a bag, and occupying a box by himself, and he soon became the 
butt of the assembly, under the pretext that he half turned his 
back upon them. Seeing that he was insensible to their cries, 
their mockings, and their jests, they soon proceeded to threats. 

“ Down with the green dress ! Down with the livery of the 
ci-devant brother of the tyrant ! ” 

The stout man, as immovable as the pillar against which he 
leaned, seemed alone not to perceive this storm. His coolness 


THE THEATER IN REVOLUTION. 


179 


and disdain exasperated his enemies to such a degree, that, 
forgetting all other considerations, they thought of surrounding 
the box, and threatened death to the citizen dressed in green. 
Already the most furious had risen to accomplish this design, 
when a municipal officer appeared in one of the front boxes, 
and commanded silence. 

This pretension was received with bootings, and an apple, 
— I beg pardon for this trivial detail, — thrown with great 
violence, reached the face of the public functionary, which was 
instantly covered with blood. 

Bravos and enthusiastic vivas expressed the pleasure this 
outrage afforded the disturbers. 

“Fire the boxes! Demolish the theater! Nail up the 
tyrant’s valet in the shape of a lustre!” cried several voices 
among the drunken sailors. 

At these threats, rendered fearful by the pantomimic action 
of those who offered them, the women in the boxes rose 
precipitately, and the greatest confusion followed. 

Seeing that ‘the affair w r as taking a serious turn, I slipped 
toward the entrance door of the pit, and from thence to the 
corridor. The first person I saw was the unfortunate muni- 
cipal officer, who had been so badly received ; he was conversing 
with a very young man, whose rather elegant dress contrasted 
strangely with the rags of the crowd. 

This young man, on perceiving me, uttered an exclamation 
of surprise, then advancing quickly toward me, he took me 
in his arms, and almost stifled me against his breast. 

“ What, ingrate ! Have you forgotten me ? Do you no 
lono-er know me?” said he. 

o 

“ Is it possible! You my cousin Jouveau!” cried I. 

“ Myself, my dear friend ! How happy I am now to see you 
again ! ” 

“ Citizen,” said the municipal officer, addressing my cousin 
Jouveau,— of whom I shall speak more in detail by and by, — 


ISO 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Do you hear those cries? Those mad fellows are going- to 
demolish the theater, if you don’t interfere. Perhaps indeed 
the city of Marseilles will be in insurrection to-night!” 

“True, I forgot!” said Jouveau coolly; “let’s make these 
boasters hold their tongues.” Then addressing me briskly, 
“ Have you about you, a large sheet of paper ? ” he asked. 

“ I have my passport.” 

“ That will do; give it me at once, and follow me.” 

“ But what do you think of doing?” 

A new uproar which shook the theater, did not allow my 
cousin to reply. He hastened toward one of the boxes, the 
door of which was opened for him by the municipal officer, 
and into which he flung himself. 

“ The representative ! ” cried the municipal officer. 

At this simple sentence, the storm that raged in the theater 
ceased, as if by enchantment, and there was a deep silence. 
Jouveau, then advancing to the front of the box, unfolded my 
passport, and intoned, rather than read, the following order: 

“Equality, fraternity, liberty, or death! Tho representative 
of the people, sent by the national convention into the depart- 
ment of the Bouches-du-Rhone, with illimitable powers, learn- 
ing at the present moment the disturbance that has now taken 
place. 

“ Considering, 1st. The sovereignty of the people, violation 
of the law. Considering 2d. Plots, the offspring of the con- 
spirators, Pitt and Cobourg. Considering 3d. The thunder 
of the people, sword of the law, the revengeful axe, the scaffold, 
the falling heads, the expiatory blood. 

Resolved : 

Article 1. The law upon the liberty of dress, the tranquil- 
lity of patriotic exhibitions, will be scrupulously provided for, 
and enforced. 

Article 2. The instigators, favorers, accomplices, partizans, 
and adherents of the disturbance, which has been manifested 


MY COUSIN JOUVEAU. 


181 


in the theater, will be pursued and judged revolutionarily, with 
all the rigor of the laws. 

Article 3. All good citizens will be required, on pain of 
being declared accomplices, and punished as such, to come 
and denounce the individuals denominated in the preceding? 
article. 

Article 4. An extract of this present will be sent to all the 
communes, in order that they may conform themselves thereto. 

Done and resolved at Marseilles, the 3rd Messidor of the 
year 2 of the indivisible, immortal, and*imperishable republic. 

The representative of the people, 

Signed, N . 

A true copy. 

N Signed, Curtius, Secretary.” 

After having intoned this decree, which he extemporized for 
the occasion, Curtius, as Jouveau was called, gravely refolded 
my passport and sat down. The orchestra immediately com- 
menced playing patriotic airs, and the curtain rose. 

“Now tranquillity is re-established,” said Jouveau Curtius, 
“ I must go and see a little why this stout man dressed in 
green. Whatever he has done, he has provoked the public. 
Perhaps there is some mischief in it.” 

“When shall I see you again, Jouveau?” 

# “Wait for me here; I will return immediately.” 

Jouveau and I had been fellow-students at college, and as 
my good father, formerly connected with the family of my 
friend, acted as correspondent to this latter, our school-fellows 
had believed that we were actually related ; and after having 
passed this off upon them as a joke, we finished by treating it 
as serious, and viewing each other as cousins. 

Truth compels me to state, that my cousin Jouveau was any- 
thing but a scholar. Of a turbulent spirit, passionately fond of 
pleasure, and not over delicate in the means employed to satisfy 


I 


182 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


his desires, he displayed the most grievous and precocious dis- 
position for dissipation. Forgetting as easily an injury as a 
.benefit, according as his interest moved him, he saw in his 
friends only the instruments of his ambition. Possessing a 
lively and ingenious disposition, and an inexhaustible fund of 
gayety, he was a favorite with his comrades, who played upon 
him with the greatest impudence, and who best knew his 
extravagant egotism. 

Perhaps I have been wrong, in point of gratitude, in thus 
recounting the defects of my cousin; for if Jouveau loved any 
one in college, it was certainly myself: he feared me much 
more than he feared our teacher, and a reproach from me 
turned him pale. I had not seen him for seven years. 

“Well,” said I, when he re-entered the box, “have you 
learned who this original is, that has thrown the theater into 
_ an insurrection ? ” 

“ I know everything,” replied he, smiling, “ the man in 
green has been deaf and dumb from his birth, and did not at 
all suspect the uproar he had caused.” 

After the curtain dropped, Jouveau, taking me by the arm, 
drew me away with him. 

“ Cousin,” said he, when we were in the street, “ I can now 
satisfy your curiosity. You see in me, the secretary-general, 
intimate and private, of a representative commissioner ! ” 

“Receive my congratulations upon your elevation; I see 
that you know how to make your way.” 

“ Why, yes, not badly. It is, however, only six months 
since I entered into political life. My representative places 
absolute and unlimited confidence in me ; he represents, but 
it is I who rule. ‘ Curtius,’ said he to me, three months ago, 
after dinner, ‘ I am a handsome man, and I represent better 
than anybody in the world; but I have a horror of work. 
Let us then divide the labor. I will show myself to the 
crowd, receive the deputations, harangue the delegates. You 


I 


THE SWEETS OF POLITICAL LIFE. 


183 


shall employ yourself with all the administrative and political 
affairs, draw up all the resolutions, write down my reports. I 
shall leave myself entirely to your experience and patriotism. 
Does this plan suit you?’ ‘Perfectly/ answered I, for I 
am not such a fool as to refuse power. In fact, since that 
conversation, his confidence in me is complete, and I manage 
everything. But it - is late, and before I go to bed I have to 
draw up a- despatch, respecting the disturbance which has 
taken place this evening at the theater. Good night, cousin; 
as soon as you are up in the morning, come to me, and we will 
breakfast together.” 

The next day, at the hour stated, I found the anti-chamber 
of Curtius Jouveau filled with all sorts of people, and had a 
good deal of trouble to reach him. Seated near a desk in his 
office, Curtius had his nightcap on; he seemed to be undecided 
whether he would yield to the entreaties of two young women, 
who smiled in the most bewitching manner. 

“ Ah ! here you are, cousin,” said he on perceiving me, 
“you are welcome. My children/’ continued he, addressing 
the young girls, whom my entrance had quite disconcerted, 
“return here to-morrow morning; to-day I renounce business 
that can be postponed.” 

“ But, citizen,” said the elder of the two petitioners, a girl 
of eighteen, “ our poor mother is in despair ! One day more 
of captivity is an age for the unfortunate who suffer.” 

“I don’t like your insisting with me, citizen,” answered 
Curtius drily; “twenty-four hours are nothing; after all, if 
returning annoys you, no one compels you to come.” 

“Oh! that won’t annoy us at all, citizen,” said the young 
girl, hastily, “ we will return ; — farewell, citizen.” They made 
an attempt to smile as they departed, but I saw the tears 
trembling in their eyes. 

“ What does your conduct indicate, Jouveau ? ” said I, “ why 
have you shown this harshness to these poor girls ? ” 

8 * 


184 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ They worry me,” said he, “ and I have, therefore, sent 
them away; that’s all.” 

As he spoke, a young man entered the office. 

“ Ah ! Is it you, Horatio Codes ? ” cried Jouveau. “ Go 
and tell Fabricius and the two Gracchi, when business is over, 
to write fair copies of the letters for the Committee of General 
Safety. As for you, cousin,” said Jouveau, rising from his arm- 
chair and flinging his nightcap into the middle of the room, 
“ follow me ; I am going to present you to the illustrious 
FT — , my very dear representative.” 

In passing through the anti-chambers, I observed that the 
petitioners saluted my cousin with profound humility and 
respect. 

“ Wait here a moment for me,” said Jouveau, when we had 
reached the anti-chamber of the representative ; “ I am going 
to acquaint the great man with your presence.” He then 
retired, and after an absence of a quarter of an hour, appeared 
again beckoning me. 

“ Come, cousin,” said he, “ we wait for you.” 

The representative N r-, whom I saw for the first time, 

resembled exactly a vigorous butcher boy in his Sunday clothes. 
He received me admirably, loaded me with caresses, and 
interrupting Jouveau who wished to begin m) panegyric. 

“ Your relationship with the citizen, and the friendship that 
you display toward him, speak enough in his favor, my dear 
Curtius,” said he. “ For the rest, from the frank, open, and 
martial air of your cousin, we cannot entertain a doubt that 
he is a good patriot. Adjutant,” continued he, turning to 
me, “ I count upon your taking a little family dinner, which I 
give to-day to our good sans-culottes. I will not keep you 
now, for I am weighed down with business. They serve dinner 
at three o’clock precisely; be exact, for I don’t like to wait,” 

“Well!” asked my fellow student when we got into the • 
street, “ what do you think of N ?” 


THE ARREST. 


185 


“ I think it is fortunate for him that he met with you on 
his way.” 

“ Why'so, cousin? ” 

u Because Hercules, who has accomplished at least a dozen 
labors, was never able to guess one charade. Thy represent- 
ative resembles Hercules.” 

“ The fact is, I am not altogether useless to him,” said 
Jouveau. “What would you have? The Convention wants 

men like N to execute its will; they comprehend 

nothing and strike boldly.” 

On quitting my cousin, I took a tour in the city. After 
two hours walking, I went toward my inn, when I met a 
brigade of gendarmes, whom the few people abroad seemed 
to regard with terror. On observing their countenances, I 
soon came to the conclusion that they were going to make an 
arrest 

I had not deceived myself: arrived before the shop of a 
laceman, the brigade stopped, and the adjutant who com- 
manded it entered the shop alone. The brigade had not 
stopped a minute, before the street was already filled with a 
numerous crowd of people of all classes. 

“ Do you know what is taking place?” asked I of a trades- 
man who, with open mouth and outstretched neck, stood upon 
the threshold of his stall. 

“I don’t know, citizen,” replied he; “it appears, however, 
that it is Lemite whom they are about to arrest.” 

“ You ought to know this Lemite, as he is your neighbor; 
what kind of a man is he?” But I asked the question in 
vain ; the man shook his head, and held his peace. 

I had scarcely spoken, when a great uproar arose in the 
crowd, which increased in intensity continually. It was the 
laceman Lemite, who, accompanied by the adjutant of the 
gendarmery, came from his warehouse. 

Two young and handsome girls, the oldest of whom might 


186 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


V 


be about twenty, and the youngest eighteen years of age, 
followed the unfortunate laceman. I learned that they were 
his daughters. 

“ Ah, citizen, I conjure you,” said the eldest, addressing the 
brigade, “ leave us our good father ; do not take him to prison, 
or at least allow us to follow him ! ” 

“We have received no order to take you, citizen,” replied 
the adjutant; “ come, take yourself off.” 

“ No; we will never abandon our father!” cried the youngest 
in her turn. “ Force alone shall snatch us from his arms.” 

“We will employ force, then,” said the adjutant, coolly. 

The poor child threw herself on the neck of her father, and 
covered his face with kisses and tears. 

The adjutant seized her in his arms, and sent her rolling 
several paces in the middle of the street. 

When they raised the poor child, her face was covered with 
blood, and she had fainted, for her head had fallen upon the 
pavement. 

“ Citizen,” cried the father, “ my daughter is murdered ! You 
have killed her.” 

“What of that? March, I tell you!” 

“Pitiless tigers! Stop, I will see my daughter!” cried the 
laceman, who, distracted with grief, flung himself with furious 
passion upon the gendarmes. 

A struggle, as short as it was terrible, ensued. The unhappy 
father, thrown on the ground, covered with blood, and gagged, 
was soon borne away by the gendarmes. The crowd main- 
tained a sullen silence. 

The reader will easily comprehend the painful emotion which 
this scene of violence occasioned in me. Unable to contain my 
indignation, I entered the house of the laceman, and addressing 
the eldest of the girls, who was kneeling in attendance upon 
her fainting sister, lavishing on her the most touching tenderness. 
“ Mademoiselle,” said I, “ I think I am able to assure you, that 


THE REPAST. 


187 


I have credit enough to procure the restoration of your father. 
Dry your tears, and have confidence in God ; your misfortunes, 
I hope, will not be of long duration.” 

The poor child thanked me abundantly for the interest I 
took in her father, and I took leave of her, assuring her anew 
that the detention of her relative should not be prolonged 
beyond a few days. 

I could have wished, after the sad event of which I had now’ 

been the witness, to dispense with being present at N ’s 

dinner; but his favor became indispensable for the accom- 
plishment of my promise, since on him alone depended the 
liberation of the laceman, and I resolved to do as much as 
possible to engage his good will. 

Precisely at three o’clock I arrived at his saloon, where 
they were to sit down to table. As soon as the representative 
saw me, he advanced to meet me, and almost stifled me with 
his embraces. I augured well from this reception ; and my 
hopes now increased, when the representative took me by the 
arm, and placed me on his left hand at the table. 

All the guests, with the exception of Jouveau and the 
President of the Revolutionary Committee, placed on the right 
of N , were unknown to me. 

The repast was exquisite ; game, fish, early fruits, old wine, 
nothing was wanting on the table. I ought to add, that at 
this very period, the inhabitants of Marseilles had not the 
right of purchasing more than seven ounces of bread per day 
per man. 

As soon as the first appetite of the guests was satisfied, and 
the soft and exciting warmth produced by the wines had 
begun to operate upon their brains, the conversation, consisting 
previously of monosyllables, took its flight, and shone in 
cheerful remarks. 

The desert was about to be served, whan an orderly came 
in, and put into the hand of the representative a sealed packet. 


188 


NOTES OE A VOLUNTEER. 


Angry at seeing his pleasures interrupted by business, 

N knitted his eyebrows, and tore open the envelope 

with an evident movement of bad humor; but at the first 
lines he read, the expression of his countenance entirely 
changed, and he became animated. 

“ Share my happiness, my friends, who are also those of the 
republic,” said he ; “ this morning I had given orders to arrest 
three abominable villains, three conspirators; two of them, — 
Roux, Judge of the Peace, and Lemite, a laceman, — have been 
found at home, and are now in the hands of justice. 

“ Ah ! ” cried one of the guests, a little, bald man, with a 
squint eye' and a restless look, “ how can we sufficiently admire 
a representative who takes so to heart the interests of the 
republic ? They talk of the energy I have shown in the com- 
mission at Orange, but what is that in comparison with the 
holy and sublime love of liberty displayed by N ?” 

The orator would undoubtedly have continued, had not'two 
servants brought in a little guillotine in sugar, of a rose color, 
which they placed before him. Then all the guests clapped 
their hands, with a transport and enthusiasm difficult -to 
describe. 

“ Citizens,” said the representative, “ shall we leave the guil- 
lotine in permanence?” At this question, which might conceal 
a snare, every one held his tongue, and an embarrassing silence 
prevailed over the assembly. * 

“ Citizen,” said a guest, — a place-hunter, under all regimes, 
according to Jouveau, — “ thanks to you, we possess two sorts 
of guillotines, one of iron, the other of sugar. We must use 
the first without relaxation for the extermination of conspirators; 
the second must nourish the patriots ! ” 

“ Let it be so,” replied the representative, who immediately 
distributed among us the different pieces of which the hideous 
machine was composed. 

Scarcely had this revolutionary dish, which constituted a 


THE GILDER. 


189 


practice very much in fashion at this epoch, been divided, 
than there was placed upon the table another, whose success 
was not less signal. This was an enormous basin, filled with 
figures in sugar, variously colored, and representing mar- 
quises, duchesses, bishops, abbes, ecclesiastics, and financiers. 
I leave it to the reader to guess, with what delicate jests, and 
good taste; the division that was made of these puppets by the 
representative, was accompanied. This task performed, the 
patriot leaned back and fell* asleep in his chair. 

Fearing to disturb the repose of so august and powerful a 
personage, the guests quickly departed in silence, walking on 
the tips of their toes. I confess that, for my own part, I was 
not displeased with this retreat, for I was suffocated. 

As it was then, as I have already said, the hight of summer, 
I resolved to go and pay a visit to the brother of the inn- 
keeper of Ciotat, for whom I had brought a letter. 

The gilder lived in Rome Street His name, inscribed upon 
the sign-board of a miserable shop, appeared to- contradict the 
high opinion his sister had expressed of his power. I knocked 
at the glass door of the shop. An old servant, all in rags, pre- 
sented herself. 

“Is your master to be seen?” I asked. 

“ That ’s as it happens,” answered she “ my master is too 
much occupied to lose his time with the first idler who presents 
himself.” 

“I have a letter from your master’s sister,” answered I to 
the servant. 

“Ah ! you come from Ciotat ! that ’s another matter ; follow 
me.” ' 

Never have I seen disorder equal to that which prevailed in 
the work-room into which I was ushered. The mysterious 
gilder, seated at a table covered with paper, appeared to me 
forty or forty-five years of age. He possessed one of those dis- 
figured physiognomies which provoke antipathy and disgust. 


190 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


Without saying* a word, he took the letter I presented, tore 
open the envelope, and scarcely throwing a glance over it, 
turned to me. “I caution you that if you have not cash, and 
hope to make me take assignats, you will be strangely deceived. 
Without ready specie, the thing is impossible.” 

“I have gold,” answered I, desirous of knowing what he 
was driving at. 

“That’s the only mode of payment that pleases me. I 

ought however to forewarn you that the representative N” , 

and, above all, his private secretary Curtius, are excessively 
severe, so that whatever may be the favor you ask, you must 
make up your mind to a heavy sacrifice. Come, speak, is it an 
arrest or a liberation that you wish to obtain?” 

“I ask nothing. Your sister, who has been my hostess at 
Ciotat, gave me a letter for you, and I have brought you that 
letter, that’s all; I understand nothing of your questions.” 

“ Then what the devil brings you here ? Why come to see 
me, and make me lose my time ? ” cried the gilder, in a violent 
passion. “ I have nothing to do with your babbling ; be off’ ! ” 

“Your manners are not very captivating, citizen,” answered 
I, coolly, “ but as your coarseness arises rather from want of 
education than an intention to insult me, I will certainly take 
no notice of it.” 

“Ah ! threats ! Take care, emissary of the royalists ! Agent 
of the foreigner! I have a long arm!” 

“To-morrow morning I will ask my cousin Curtius about 
that.” 

“Is Curtius, the secretary of the representative N , your 

cousin ? Pray, sit down, I beg of you, citizen,” cried the gilder, 
changing his tone at once, and handing to me a chair. 

“ I thank you ; but as I still prefer your threats to your of- 
ficiousness, citizen, I have the honor to wish you a good 
evening.” 

Turning upon my heels, I hastily descended the stairs and 


THE PETITIONER. 


191 


went out. I already knew too much of Jouveau to be sur- 
prised at discovering his connection with the gilder. But I 
could not help reflecting with sorrow on the deep degree of 
debasement and degradation into which France was plunged. 
In civil affairs, as well as in the military department, the men 
invested with authority saw, in their position, only the means 
of satisfying their avarice or their ambition. 

The next morning I went at eleven o’clock to visit Jouveau. 
He had just risen. 

Whilst he was dressing, several petitioners or friend's sent 
in their names, and he ordered them to be introduced in 
rotation. Not wishing to interrupt him, I went to wait the 
breakfast hour in the office. 

Shortly afterward, my cousin Jouveau entered, slamming the 
door after him with violence. 

“What ’s the matter now, Curtius?” said I, “you appear to 
be quite in a passion.” 

“ That ’s just what I am, parbleu !” replied he. “Would you 
believe it, that I cannot take a step without being stopped by 
petitioners of all kinds ? 1 Citizen, return me my father ! ’ 

‘ Citizen, my poor innocent wife languishes in a dungeon!’ — 
and so on. Sapre-bleu, I cannot goon thus much longer; my 
nerves are completely unstrung. To put a stop to this un- 
bearable persecution, I must imprison two of the petitioners; 
that ’s the only way to have any peace. Will you go with me 

to the house of N ? ” said, he ; “I shall scarcely stay 

there two minutes, and we will go to breakfast afterward.” 

“Willingly,” answered I; “for my part, I want to have a 
serious conversation with you. Come.” 

Jouveau went into the private office of his representative, 
and I remained in the anti-chamber, when I saw coming in a 
woman veiled, whose form and step indicated extreme youth. 
The stranger seemed agitated, and avoided the presence of the 
other petitioners. There was in her bearing such modesty, 


192 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


that I at once took a lively interest in her. Her appearance 
here plainly indicated that some misfortune had befallen 
her, and I resolved, if opportunity offered, to be of service 
to her. 

“You do not recollect me, I believe,” said she, advancing 
and raising* the veil which concealed the most graceful and 
handsome countenance imaginable. 

“Indeed, mademoiselle,” I answered, “I honestly confess, 
never till this moment have I had the honor of seeing you.” 

I beg your pardon, citizen. I am the eldest daughter of 
the unfortunate Lemite, and you, citizen, are the only man who, 
since the arrest of my poor father, has spoken words of hope 
and consolation to my sister and me. In our accidental meet- 
ing this morning I see the finger of providence.” 

“Believe me, mademoiselle,” said I, “I will employ the little 
influence I may have, to procure the safety of your father; 
only I fear that that influence may prove less than my zeal 
and good will.” 

“Yet, citizen, your presence here is a proof that you know 

some one connected with the representative N , or his 

secretary, Curtius.” 

“Yes, mademoiselle, I know citizen Curtius quite well. He 
is my old college acquaintance, and we call each other cousin.” 

“Well, then,” resumed the poor child, overcome with emo- 
tion, “you can save my father. A word from you to your 
cousin, citizen, will save a whole family from misery and 
despair.” 

“Have confidence, mademoiselle; Curtius will be here im- 
mediately. The first words that I address to him shall be to 
ask the liberation of your father.” 

“Citizen Curtius coming,” repeated the young girl; “Oh! 
I entreat you to present me to him ! I feel that when it con- 
cerns the defense of my father, I should find words that a 
daughter alone could speak.” 


THE DILEMMA. 


193 


M On the contrary, avoid seeing Curtius,” replied T, alarm- 
ed, reflecting on her beauty, and the unscrupulous character of 
Jouveau. “Leave the defense of your interests in my hands, 
and believe that I will plead the cause of your father with as 
much warmth as if it were my own.” 

“And do you hope to succeed?” replied the poor girl, 
attempting to read in my looks the extent of my hopes. 

“I am almost certain of it,” said I. “Yet I cannot positively 
answer for my success. However, I think I may say that we 
have twenty good chances to one bad one. Now, go quickly, 
here is Curtius.” 

“And when shall I see you again ? ” 

“As soon as I have obtained what you wish. Perhaps in 
an hour.” 

“Then if you do not come, after that time is over — ” 

“You must trust in God alone, for that delay will tell you 
that I am arrested myself, or that I have fled from the city of 
Marseilles.” 

Soon after, I was seated at table with Curtius, partaking of 
a sumptuous breakfast. 

“Do you know the news of the day?” said he; “we have 
just heard that a fleet of twenty transports loaded with grain, 
which we were impatiently expecting, has been captured by 
the English. This will have a deplorable effect in the city and 

the department. N fears a rising and does not know 

what course to take.” 

“How have you learned this news?” 

“By the report of the captain of the corvette which was 
charged with convoying the fleet, and who having, like a cow- 
ard, taken to flight before the English squadron, has come 
safely into port. We calculate upon his execution, to calm and 
divert the public mind.” 

“But tell me, Jouveau, were the British force which took 
the fleet from the convoy, numerous ? ” 


194 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ Yery so; they consisted of three ships of the line, seven 
frigates, and four corvettes.” 

“Well, then, how could the unfortunate commander have 
been able to assist them with but a single corvette ? ” 

“ What does that signify to us ? He ought to have sunk or 
blown up his ship ; that would have allowed us to draw up a 
thundering bulletin, or a civic feast, and the people would have 
thought no more of the famine. ” 

“Jouveau,” said I, changing the subject of conversation, 
“you know a man of the name of Lemite?” 

At this question his countenance became clouded, and the 
expression of his features altered as by enchantment. “Yes, 
I know indeed the man Lemite,” replied he, in a short, dry 
voice ; “ what next ? ” 

“That unfortunate man who has been incarcerated, doubt- 
less in consequence of a mistake, is the only support of his 
family.” 

“Enough, citizen,” said Jouveau, cutting short the conver- 
sation ; “ that ’s an affair which does not concern you. Leave to 
the patriots who love the republic the care of watching over 
its preservation and safety.” 

“My dear friend, don’t put on that mask; I know you too 
well. Tell me frankly whether you have any motive of hatred, 
revenge, or interest in this affair, and in the name of heaven 
lay the republic aside. Come, be frank!” 

“Well, I agree to it. Lemite is a good republican and an 
honest citizen ; but that will not prevent his head from falling 
on the scaffold.” 

“Wretch! I thought you only a thief; are you an assas- 
sin, too?” 

“My dear friend,” said he coolly, and without appearing the 
least moved by my warmth, “ I see you do not know me ; a 
final explanation will, I hope, deliver me, for the future, from 
your amazement and anger. Know therefore, once for all, that 


MY DEPARTURE. 


195 


I acknowledge no other interest but my own ; that I only coun- 
tenance what may be profitable to me, and that, — thanks to 
my selfishness — you see how open I am with you, — I find my- 
self placed above human passions. Envy, hatred, revenge, are 
sentiments which have no influence on me ; I see only my well- 
being, — the rest signifies nothing.” 

“What interest then have you in hunting this unfortunate 
Lemite ? ” 

“A very great one ; Lemite has been imprudent enough to 

speak ill of N , and the representative is furious against 

him. In promoting the revenge of this latter, I increase his 
confidence, and, consequently, 'my credit. Now as this confi- 
dence and credit represent for thy friend Jouveau, fortune, 
pleasure, and power, you will see that I sacrifice this babbler 
Lemite on the altar of ambition. Your protege might have 
committed any other gross imprudence, and in consequence of 
the interest you feel for him, I would have saved him. But 
he has dared to attack the man who is all in all to me, and he 
shall die/’ 

“ Can nothing induce you to alter your resolution, Jouveau?” 

“ Nothing, my dear friend, since I am not even angry.” 

“ Well, then, I leave you instantly. It will be impossible 
for me to live longer with you. The very sight of you makes 
me sick.” 

“ I am sorry, my dear friend, that you must go away ; but 
as, upon the whole, you cannot always remain here, I will 
endeavor to console myself during your absence.” 

Judging that my supplications and threats would be inef- 
fectual against a disposition so wholly selfish, I no longer in- 
sisted, and went away without replying to Jouveau. 

Within an hour, with my knapsack on my back, and my 
walking-stick in my hand, I was traversing the highway from 
Marseilles to Aix. 

I was much struck by observing that the miserable and 


196 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


ragged pedestrians, whom I met in my route, appeared happy 
and sung loudly, whilst the horsemen, whose appearance indi- 
cated opulence, wore a countenance indicating inward care and 
deep abstraction of mind. The conclusion I drew from this 
was, that the first thought only of what they ought to be able 
to take, and the latter, what they were in danger of losing. 
Uniforms of all kinds, delegates, gendarmes, prisoners, com- 
missaries, I met every moment. The road exhibited but one 
long train of disasters produced by the maximum accusations, 
and war. 

I had scarcely been an hour at Aix, when a frightful uproar 
of drums beating to the field, and trumpets sounding to 
parade, caused me to put my head out of the window, when I 
saw the military body, the committees, the municipalities of 
the district, the judges, and all the other authorities, in proces- 
sion. The soldiers and magistrates, singing loudly, walked 
before a green car, in which was extended, with more freedom 
than decency, a very handsome woman. In a moment I 
joined the procession. 

“What fete is this ? ” I asked. 

“It is the fete of Reason,” was the reply. 

Stimulated by curiosity, and observing that the crowd was 
peaceable, I joined the escort of the goddess of reason. After 
a short march, we arrived at the spot fixed on for the celebra- 
tion of this imposing ceremon}'-, that is to say, before a church, 
the w 7 alls of which, blackened with smoke, and the doors rid- 
dled with balls, showed that this holy place had sustained the 
ravages of the revolutionary storm. The goddess descended 
from her car, entered the church, accompanied by all the 
authorities, and was seated under a dias of verdure, which 
was prepared for her. Immediately the trumpets sounded 
furiousty, and shortly after, a municipal officer, wearing a tri- 
colored scarf, mounted the pulpit to deliver an address. A 
perfect silence ensued. 


THE FEAST OF REASON. 


197 


“ Brothers and friends,” exclaimed the orator of the feast, 
in a stentorian voice, “ there is a power anterior to the crea- 
tion, a power which ambitious hypocrites have managed to 
violate. I speak of reason. Misfortune to the people who 
forget it! hatred to the tyrants who want to defy it! The 
first fall into slavery, the second upon the scaffold!” 

A discourse commencing thus, promised much. The elo- 
quence of the municipal officer was crowned with full success, 
and elicited thunders of applause. 

Whilst the orator, ranting with furious gestures, made the 
antique arches of the church resound with his formidably 
voice, a scene less solemn, perhaps, but certainly more pictur- 
esque and curious, took place a few steps from where I stood. 

The goddess of reason, aware of the ogling of several fops, 
who had sidled to the foot of the dias, under which she was 
seated, had ended — a human weakness very pardonable in a 
woman of her age — by forgetting her part, and abandoning 
herself to the pleasure of flirtation. 

The sidelong glances were going on, when a large man, 
about forty years old, whose more than negligent costume de- 
noted no great desire to please, appeared impatient of these 
delightful coquetries. At first he hummed ; then seeing that 
his goddess was insensible of this warning, he began to swear 
moderately, in an under tone: at last, his monosyllables ob- 
taining no success, he got seriously angry, and with rather an 
unparliamentary expression, disturbed the devotions of the 
admirers. 

“Ah, you slut!” cried he, “ you shall pay for this!” 

“ Hush ! ” and “ Turn out the royalist! ” from several voices, 
certainly prevented the dirty fellow from proceeding, but was 
far from calming his anger. 

“Ah, the wretch! Ah, the arrant brazen-face!” murmured 
he between his teeth, “not to be more guarded than that! 
To insult me thus to my face! We’ll see. who laughs last! ” 


198 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“What is' it then, citizen?” I asked in a low voice, “Is not 
the fete to your mind? Do you find the goddess unworthy, 
for want of beauty, to fill the honorable post she occupies? ” 

“The brazen-face is only too handsome!” replied he, “and 
all these fops who insult me! they shall see if I don’t know 
how to revenge myself.” 

“ What do you mean by revenge ? ” 

“ Don’t you know that the goddess of reason is my wife? ” 

“ I was ignorant of that. Allow me to congratulate you.” 

The man shrugged his shoulders, and knit his brows in such 
a manner, that I guessed my compliment was taken as an 
injury and insult. 

The municipal officer, at the close of his harangue, descended 
from his tribune, and the procession was on the point of re- 
suming its march, when the husband of the goddess advanced 
briskly toward his too sensitive half, and apostrophized her 
with a warmth of expression that it is impossible to record. 

“Stop!” replied she, “won’t they say that we are still living 
under tyrants, when a woman has no right to look before her, 
but she is threatened with being knocked on the head ? ” 

“ What ! you abominable jade ! ” 

“Ah! let ’s have no foul words, I beg, citizen husband. We 
come here to celebrate the feast of reason, and a voice tells me 
that an old and ugly owl like you, who is always growling, is 
not to be compared to a handsome young man, whose lips 
utter only words of love. So, if you are dissatisfied — ” 

Here the irritated husband advanced with his raised fist 
toward his better half. The goddess of reason, for her part, 
feeling herself too well supported by the presence of her ad- 
mirers to submit to the gross correction with which she was 
threatened, rose with a bound from her seat, and with her 
head thrown back, her eyes sparkling, and her talons displayed, 
prepared herself for an obstinate defense. 

Immediately a terrible uproar, mixed with cries, laughter, 


A GODDESS IN TROUBLE. 


199 


and jests, made the nave of the large church tremble. The 
couple were at blows. If the husband was powerful, the 
goddess did not want courage, so that the combat soon took 
such a turn, that to prevent a misfortune they were obliged to 
separate the too animated pair. 

This little incident greatly amused me, and did not displease 
the crowd. At the end of the ceremony, the husband, cooled 
by the struggle, and the wife, delighted at having so success- 
fully resisted her spouse, soon recovered their dignity. The 
goddess remounted her car, and the procession defiled anew 

[ across the city, to the sound of drums and trumpets. 

The cortege stopped before a fish merchant’s shop; the 
goddess descended, for the shop was hers, saluted the multi- 
tude, and all was over. 

I rose the next morning and proceeded on my route. My 
first halt after leaving Aix, was at a large town called Saint 
Cunard. There occurred at the inn at which I stopped, a 
comical adventure, which I think I ought to relate. 

According to my usual habit of seeing everything in my 
travels, I went through the place, and returned harassed with 
fatigue and sighing with regret, at the thought of the meagre 
and pitiful dinner which awaited me, when, on entering the 
kitchen, I was both surprised and delighted to see upon the 
stove a really very excellent dinner. The fire under the cop- 
per pans being deadened by a bed of ashes, showed that this 
dinner was ready to be served, and I at once ordered the 
servant to lay the table. 

The stupid girl looked at me with an air of astonishment. 
“Is this dinner then for you? ” she asked. 

“ Parbleu, for whom did you think it was ? ” 

At this answer, which certainly indicated no great matter, 
the wench opened her large eyes, looked at me with an ex- 
pression of unutterable astonishment, and made a profound 
~ curtsey. 


9 


200 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


u If you will go into the dining-room, I will do myself the 
honor of serving you,” she replied. 

“Be it so. Above all, make haste, and don’t keep me wait- 
ing: I am dying of hunger.” 

Soon after, installed before a table covered with a delicately 
white cloth — a rare occurrence at that period— they brought 
me an excellent soup, two bottles of wine, a leg of mutton, 
and two roasted partridges. I thought I was in a dream. I 
had half eaten the dinner when the hostess bounced into the 
room with a cry of despair. 

“ Ah, robber ! ” said she, “ what have you done ? ” Then 
turning toward a young man, of severe and scornful cast of 
countenance, who followed her: — 

“Ah! forgive me, citizen,” said she, clasping her hands in a 
supplicating manner, “this vagabond is alone guilty. How 
could I possibly think that any man would be daring enough 
to take away your dinner ? ” * 

I must confess that the anger of the hostess and the re- 
proaches she addressed to me, did not astonish me much, for 
in sitting down to table, I had already entertained some doubts 
upon the destination of the sumptuous dinner which had been 
served up with so much attention. The idea of an equivoque 
occurred to my mind, but my hunger was such, that I resolved 
" to profit by it before asking any questions. I comprehended 
at once, on perceiving the young man, that he was my victim. 
In the meanwhile, I thought it best to remain unmoved, and 
put a good face on it. 

“ Do you know, citizen,” said the hostess, calming herself a 
little on seeing my sang-froid, “do you know, citizen, that you 
have been very hasty ? ” 

“ Citizen, I don’t like my dinner to get cold.” 

“ But this dinner was not prepared for you.” 

“ To be candid, I will not deny that I begin to think so.” 


STEALING A DINNER. 


201 


t( It is tlie dinner of the citizen Commissary of the Public 
Safety that you have eaten.” 

“Well, then,” answered I, turning my eyes toward the 
‘young man, “ the citizen shall eat mine.” 

“Don’t you know, then, what a Commissary of the Public 
Safety is ? ” said the hostess emphatically. 

“ Perfectly,” answered I, laughing. 

“Here’s my commission,” said the young man, drawing 
from his portfolio, a long patent, at the head of which was en- 
graved a large radiated eye, which took up half the page. 

“ I have not assumed that you were not in rule,” replied I, 
preparing to cut up the second partridge. 

The commissary, seeing that there was no time to lose, was 
about to seize the chair on which I had laid my knapsack and 
sabre. 

_ “Don’t touch that,” cried I, “or I shall get angry.” 

This stroke of audacity gave me the victory. The commis- 
sary stopped and stood motionless. However, not wishing to 
push it too far, which might have turned the tables upon me, I 
instantly resumed a friendly manner. 

“ I am sensitive upon a point of honor, as all soldiers ought 
to be who respect themselves; but, although I am rather 
hasty, I am not a curmudgeon. If you will content yourself • 
with what I call my dinner, because I eat it, and which the 
citizen hostess called yours, because you ought to have eaten 
it, tell them to bring a chair, and sit down by my side; we will 
divide what remains like brothers. I am waiting your reply, 
and don’t forget that I shall quickly get to work.” 

The citizen commissary, who was stunned for the moment 
by my off-hand manner of acting with so important a person- 
age as himself, shook off his reserve, thanked me for my offer, 
sat down, and in a few minutes the commissary and I were the 
best friends in the world. 


202 NOTES OP A VOLUNTEER. 

“Confess, comrade,” said I, “that you would have fared 
very slenderly if I had not a little fellow-feeling.” 

“ I do confess it,” replied he, “ but I comprehend at once, 
by your manner of acting, that you are not what you seem to 
be at first view: that is to say, a poor devil of an adjutant, on 
leave of absence for health.” 

“ But I protest you are wrong.” 

“ Come, a truce to modesty and discretion. I know now 
perfectly what to believe about you, my dear colleague. Yes, 
indeed, you have a perfect knowledge of your trade. One 
thing alone astonishes me in your conduct. Instead of drag- 
ging yourself thus painfully on foot, as you do, why don’t you 
go on horseback ? ” 

“Ah, how young you are, my dear friend,” cried I, smiling 
in a very serious manner, for I began to see the error into 
w'hich the commissar}^ had fallen, and was not sorry to profit 
by it 

“ Yes, I am young,” repeated he, disconcerted by my firm- 
ness, “but that is not an answer to my question. Why, I say 
again, do you travel the high road on foot, and with your sack 
at your back, as if you were an outlawed federalist?” 

“Why, my dear friend? Just because I am very inquisitive 
«of my species. Don’t you understand me? Do you suppose, 
that to see and hear properly, one must be mounted on a 
horse, or shut up in a post-chaise? For my part, I thought 
till to-day that my obscurity, by allaying all suspicion, and 
giving no umbrage, would assist me more in my study of 
manners, than a foppish train and imposing title, which would 
be considered as a challenge.” 

“Ah, I see, I see, colleague. I am satisfied you are a man 
of no common stamp; I require no other explanation. Tell 
me ; I ’ll bet that you have been sent by that cunning sharper, 
de Billaut de Varenne.” 

“ No, you are mistaken ; it is not Billaut who — ” 


COMMISSARY OF PUBLIC SAFETY. 203 

u Then, it is Couthon ; confess it.” 

“Nor he neither; I can only repeat to you that I am what 
I have already said: that I am a philosopher and observer, that 
I am passionately fond of the study of manners, and that I fill 
no office under government.” 

“ Discretion amongst colleagues ! After all, if it is in your 
instructions, you are right to act as you do, and I must affect 
to believe you. No matter! I am convinced that you play 
an important part, and are initiated into many secrets.” 

“Not the least in the world. I sometimes guess at what 
they would conceal from me, that’s all.” 

“And you guess the subject of my mission?” asked my 
interlocuter slowly,' and looking at me in a strange manner. 

“ Perhaps I do. I fancy to myself that you are entrusted 
with an important interest. The opinions of the national 
agents, districts, and great communities, arrests to propose, 
verbal and secret orders to convey to the representatives of 
the people. As to the plausible pretext you allege as the 
motive of your mission, it should be the inspection of salt- 
petre-works and carriages.” 

In proportion as I spoke, I remarked a singular change 
took place in the expression of my companion’s physiognomy. 
When I had finished he saluted me with great politeness, and 
in an earnest voice : — ♦ 

“Citizen,” said he, “I am quite ignorant who you are; 
however, if you are questioned about me, I flatter myself you 
will not forget that I am quite devoted to the republic, and 
that we have partaken of the same bread and salt.” 

At this reply I had the greatest difficulty to avoid laughing; 
but I preserved my gravity, and when my colleague re-entered 
his post-chaise, he shook me warmly by the hand, praying me 
not to forget that he would always be my most devoted 
servant. 

The next morning, as I was preparing to resume my journey, 


204 * NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 

I received the visit of the mayor of Saint Cunat. This func- 
tionary approached me with all the marks of profound defer- 
ence, and saluted me humbly. 

“Citizen,” said he, “I hope that you will honor with your 
presence the civic banquet which the municipality are to give 
to-day in your behalf.” 

“What are you . speaking of? Wliat! The municipality 
make a feast for me ? It’s impossible ! ” 

“ Citizen, commissary extraordinary of the public safety — ” 

“What are you singing about now? I am not, and I never 
have been, charged with such functions. I beg of you to 
consider me only as a simple sub-officer on leave — ” 

“Yes, I know, citizen! I understand. Fear nothing; we 
will respect your incognito.” 

“ My incognito ! What the deuce does that signify ? I 
refuse to accept your invitation.” 

“But, citizen,” exclaimed the mayor, with a comic look of 
disappointment, “the orders are given, the repast is com- 
manded. Your refusal will plunge the borough in grief. Be- 
sides, I must inform you, that a deputation is already appointed 
to attend and thank you for your acceptance of it.” 

“Ah! is there a deputation appointed? That’s enough. 
Well, citizen mayor, promise that this deputation will not come 
here, and I will engage to attend the banquet.” 

“Yes, I understand. Your incognito.” 

“You seem to understand everything here. It does not 
matter; only remember the formal declaration I now make, 
that I am quite simply an adjutant on leave of health, and 
that I hold no other title.” 

The mayor smiled with a knowing air, and undertook to 
report my declaration. 

With this precaution, and not fearing in future being ac- 
cused of having appropriated to myself a title that did not 
belong to me, I resolved to profit by the error into which 


THE BANQUET. 


205 


they had fallen, and to enjoy the homage they were heaping 
upon me. 

The spot selected for the fete was about five minutes walk 
from the inn; it was a platform, carpeted with moss, and 
shaded by a row of olive trees. When we arrived, I found the 
whole population of the borough waiting for me, clad in their 
holiday clothes. My appearance caused a sensation ; and the 
mayor, advancing to meet me, conducted me to the post of 
honor. 

The banquet immediately commenced. Never in mv life 
do I recollect being present at a spectacle so grotesque as that 
I then saw. Let the reader figure to himself nearly a hundred 
and fifty persons extended, in the same manner as the Romans, 
on the turf, and taking all the trouble in the world to appear 
at their ease. 

There being no plates or dinner service, it was ludicrous to 
see the fingers of the guests plunged into the liquid dishes whilst 
the gravy splashed into their faces. And then, every moment, 
there were soup tureens overturned by the feet of neighbors 
placed before you ; cries, uttered by young girls, whose dresses 
had suffered from these injuries; groanings of old men, whose 
rheumatics made.it painful for them to keep in that vertical 
position; in short, it was a pell mell and a confusion, that would 
certainly have inspired the pencil of Callot. 

I had for a neighbor, I cannot say at table, but on the turf, 
a man whose handsome countenance, satirical air, and intel- 
ligent eyes, had attracted my attention. I resolved to engage 
him in conversation. 

“ Citizen,” said I, “ I guess by the expression of your 
countenance, you feel very happy in attending this fraternal 
communion.” 

“ The fact is, citizen,” replied he, “ I am greatly amused. v 

“ Is this, then, the first civic banquet you have attended ? ” 

“ Oh ! not at all ; I am too curious in studying the manners 


206 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


of our epoch, to miss any opportunity of observing them” 
replied he. “ I attend all the fetes, all the sittings, all the 
gatherings, and in a time of quiet, I try to provoke a 
tempest.” 

“ That’s a confession, remember, that does not prove in favor 
of your patriotism.” 

“ Why not? They have first pillaged and afterward burnt 
my chateau; and I have applauded that popular justice, for it 
has proved to me that I was a tyrant. They have since told 
me that the aristocracy was a monstrosity, that we were all 
alike; and I have not complained on seeing the dirty and 
ragged cloaks treat decent clothing with supreme contempt. 
They assure me that we are free, and I have not pretended 
the contrary, although the prisons overflow with captives. In 
a word, I have accepted without complaint all the ideas and 
the levities of the new order of things. You will agree with 
me, that having shown so much docility and such deference 
for the opinions of others, the least they can do is to allow me 
to indulge some fancies. Now my fancy is, to study, on the 
spot, the happiness of those who have rendered us free. 
Thus, this civic banquet is full of attractions for me.” 

The irony which pervaded the speech of my neighbor was 
so visible, that it was impossible to avoid noticing it. 

“ Do you know, citizen,” replied I, “ that without knowing 
who I am, you express yourself before me with imprudent 
freedom, of which I might take advantage.” 

“ Bah ! ” said this singular personage, shrugging his shoul- 
ders. “ Do you think me, because I have spoken freely, so 
denuded of common sense and reason, as not to know to whom 
I address myself? I know you perfectly.” 

“ You know me ! That seems very curious to me. Who 
am I ? ” 

“ First, my dear sir,” said he, lowering his voice and 
applying his mouth to my ear, “ you are not a commissary 


CITIZEN GRACCHUS. 


207 


of public safety, as all these fools think. And further, I think 
I may add, that neither are you a man of violence.” 

“ May I ask you, — for I confess that the originality of your 
mind excites my curiosity, — what have you formerly been, and 
what are you now ? ” 

“ Formerly I was called the Marquis de H , and I was 

opposed to the court. To-day they call me citizen Gracchus, 
and I am a veterinary surgeon.” 

My conversation with citizen Gracchus was interrupted at 
this moment by a patriotfc chant, which the guests intoned 
with rare energy. 

The banquet being finished, we rose from the t.urf, and a 
bal-champetre closed this memorable day. I was about to 

retire, when I perceived the Marquis de H leaving the 

ball alone. I ran after him, and holding him by the sleeve of 
his carmagnole, “ Citizen Gracchus,” said I, “ you leave very 
early. Are you not afraid of making them suspect your 
patriotism ? ” 

“ You must know, my dear sir, that I am a fatalist,” replied 
he, “ and £hat, consequently, I never trouble myself about the 
future. As I must start to-morrow, at break of day, I leave 
now, in order to get a few hours rest.” 

“ Then you do not reside at St. Cunat?” 

“No; I live at a small village called Remoulins, near 
Gar don.” 

“ Indeed ! Well, it fortunately happens, that that village 
lies just in the route I have marked out for myself. If it is 
agreeable to you we will travel together.” 

“ I can wish for nothing better than your company.” 

“ Well, then, come and sleep at the inn where I am lodging. 
In that case, we shall not have to wait for each other.” 

“ I accept your offer with pleasure,” replied citizen Gracchus. 

The next morning, at an early hour, I awoke the hostess, 
who was still abed, in order to discharge my bill. I had not 
9 * 


208 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


left St. Cunat long, before I found reason to congratulate 
myself with having proposed to the Marquis de H. to travel 
with me. He was certainly the most original man I had ever 
met with, and his conversation divested the journey of its 
fatigue. Exercising the profession of a cattle doctor, he was 
constantly on the road, and found great pleasure in the 
vicissitudes attending that life. From time to time he returned 
to the village of Remoulins, which was his quarter-general. 

On setting out from St. Cunat, we determined to quit the 
highway, and travel by the cross roads, and we very soon 
entered the mountains. This mode of traveling presented a 
double advantage to us, affording delightful and picturesque 
prospects, and at the same time relieving us from the melan- 
choly spectacle of the numerous captives which the gendar- 
mery were conducting to the prisons in the large cities. I 
remarked at the same time the singular fact that the torrent 
of the revolution had rapidly traversed the high roads, without 
invading those parts of the country removed from the great 
centers of population. Right and left of the frequented roads, 
we continually heard revolutionary or obscene songs, whilst 
in the. isolated villages, the vespers and hymns of the church 
were still sung. 

In the afternoon of the second day, we arrived at Avignon. 
My first care was to go to the house of my former host, the 
brave Marcotte ; but, to my great surprise, I found his house 
shut up and abandoned, I was retiring in disappointment, 
when a bookseller, who lived opposite, called to me. 

“ Citizen adjutant,” said he, taking me into his shop, “ are 
you not the same soldier who stayed some time at the house 
of Marcotte?” 

“You are quite right: but what is become of my former 
host?” 

“ Alas ! the poor man has fled.” 

“ Fled ! And what for ? ” 


THE REVOLUTIONARY COMMITTEE. 


209 


“Just because bis cousin Pistache bas denounced bim to 
tbe Committee of Public Safety.” 

“ The scoundrel!” 

“ Citizen Pistache Carotte fell in love with tbe daughter of 
bis cousin, tbe pretty Matilda, and as she did not return bis 
passion, it follows that her father Marcotte bas found himself 
transformed all at once into a dangerous conspirator.” 

“ I will tell tbe villain a piece of my mind ! Do you know 
whether he still lives in tbe same bouse?” 

“ Citizen,” replied tbe bookseller, after looking round to 
see that nobody heard bim, “ if I may advise you, it is that you 
get away again from Avignon as soon as possible.” 

“ For what reason?” 

“ Because you have been denounced to tbe Revolutionary 
Committee as being the accomplice of emigrants and federalists. 
They have even demanded your immediate accusation and 
arrest” 

“ And how did the Revolutionary Committee receive this 
denunciation ?” 

“ One of the citizens undertook to defend you as one whose 
blood, probably, at that moment was flowing for his country. 
These words having elicited applause, the Revolutionary 
Committee, passed to the order of the day. Notwithstanding, 
it is my opinion that you will do well to get away from Avig- 
non as soon as you can.” 

I thanked the bookseller for his information, and promised 
to follow his advice, and, accordingly, started the same after- 
noon at night-fall. The next day, it was nearly eight o ’clock 
in the evening when the marquis and I arrived at Remoulins. 

“ My dear Gracchus,” said I to my companion, “ now that we 
are arrived upon your domain, I shall leave it to your superior 
knowledge of the place to procure me a supper and bed.” 

“ You shall not want for either,” replied he, “ and I will 
also introduce you to excellent society.” 


210 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


« Nonsense ! Where shall I find this excellent company ? 
At the club ? ” 

“ No, at the inn. Follow me, in all confidence.” 

We soon after entered a miserable lodging-house, the dilap- 
idated appearance of which made me groan at the thought 
that I was fasting. In the common room into which we 
entered, there was already a company of about a dozen persons. 
I never saw a more ragged set. 

“ Is this the good society you spoke of?” said I. 

“ Yes, it is.” 

“ Truly!” replied I, laughing at this mystification. “ Well, 
I forgot that you are an original and a philosopher. Will 
you present me to your honorable friends ? ” 

“ Willingly,” said my companion, who, taking me with much 
stateliness by the hand, conducted me to a little old man, 
and raising his voice : — 

“ Viscount de F., I have the honor of presenting to you 
my excellent friend, citizen Alexis.” 

The mendicant, — for to judge by the old man’s costume,' 
he must have been reduced to a dependence on public charity 
for a living, — the mendicant, I say, rose immediately from 
the wooden bench on which he sat, and saluted me with much 
politeness. 

“ I am happy and flattered, sir, to make your acquaintance,” 
replied he, “ for you want no other introduction than that of 
being the friend of our excellent Marquis de H. Besides, 
everything in your manners and language shows you to be a 
perfect gentleman.” 

I respectfully bowed to the mendicant, or rather the vis- 
count. 

“ If you desire it, my dear friend,” said my singular com- 
panion, scarcely suppressing a sly smile, “ I am about to have 
the honor of presenting you to the Duchess of 0., whose 
name you ought not to be a stranger to. I must caution 


THE PRESENTATION. 


211 


you,” he continued, lowering his voice, “ that although the 
duchess is a woman distinguished both by birth and education, 
she is at this moment reduced to such an extremity that if I 
present you, she will certainly ask you for money. After all, 
by a twenty or thirty sous-piece, you will render her the 
happiest of women.” 

The marquis then conducted me to one of the most obscure 
corners of the cabaret, when I saw, seated upon a low stool, 
and half hidden by some one standing before her, an old lady 
of sixty-five or seventy years of age, whose immobility resem- 
bled that of a statue. 

“ My dear duchess,” said my companion, addressing her with 
great respect, “ I have taken the liberty of bringing one of my 
good friends, who anxiously wishes to have the honor of making 
your acquaintance.” 

I thought I was dreaming. By the manner in which the old 
woman, after I had been introduced according to all the rules 
of etiquette, rose from her stool and made me a curtsey, I could 
no longer entertain a doubt that she had lived at court, and 
was indeed the Duchess of 0. 

“ My dear sir,” said she with a melancholy smile, “ I guess, 
by your astonishment, that you cannot conceive by what strange 
course of events and complications I am reduced to this state 
of destitution and misery in which you now find me. Look 
around you; observe the incredible metamorphoses and 
changes which are taking place in France, and my present 
position will no longer surprise you. Indeed, my history is 
very simple. Being seriously ill when the revolution burst 
out, I could not follow my friends abroad, and was fortunate 
enough in the devotedness of a poor old woman whom I 
scarcely knew, but who had for many years been attached to 
the precincts of my chateau, and now came to my aid. Alas ! 
Scarcely had my protectress, on whose generous assistance I 
was now compelled to rely, saved me from the fury of Messieurs 


212 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the patriots, who pillaged my chateau, than she died herself. 
How I have since subsisted I can scarcely tell. It appears 
that from time to time I receive small presents: at least that’s 
what my steward informs me.” 

“ How ! Did you say your steward, duchess ? ” 

“ Indeed, that word must sound very ridiculous from my 
mouth,” resumed the duchess, smiling. “ It is a habit Qf the 
past; as I have never in my life interfered in my affairs, I still 
call the worthy man my steward who takes care of my interests. 
Hold, there he is now, coming in.” 

I immediately turned my eyes toward the door, and per- 
ceived a little, thin man, round shouldered, and wearing; a 
carmagnole completely threadbare. 

“ Well, Mons. Ferules,” said the ducliess, “ have you brought 
me some good news?” 

“None, alas! Madame la Duchess,” replied the little m&n, 
bowing ceremoniously. 

“ Mons. Officer,” resu Jied the duchess, turning to me, “ I 
present to you the former preceptor of my children. I ask 
pardon for not telling you his true name, but I have never 
known it My children called him Ferules, and that soubri- 
quet he has always retained.” 

“ Your children have done me too much honor, my good 
duchess,” replied the old man mildly. 

In spite of the feeling of sadness which the sight of the 
deep wretchedness of this woman produced in me at first, 
placed, as she had been, at the top of the social scale, but who 
now closed a life of luxury and power with so frightful and 
miserable an old age, I could not help smiling, on hearing the 
duchess express herself in a tone of levity still befitting the 
great lady. 

“ Will you permit me to ask you, duchess, how it is that 
you are still at liberty?” said I; “I cannot conceive why they 
have not arresfed you.” 


MY COMPANION TtlE MARQUIS. 


213 


u Messieurs, the patriots, pretend that I serve for an example, 
and that the life of a woman formerly rich and powerful, but 
now fallen, (because she has been robbed and spoiled of her 
goods,) into cruel indigence, affords a serious lesson for the 
people. If I had had my choice between dying in good com- 
pany with my former society upon the scaffold, or of spend- 
ing the remainder in this cabaret, my choice would not be 
doubtful.” 

“After all, my faculties are so weakened, and I am so broken, 
down, that I remain almost always in a lethargic sleep, which 
renders my lot supportable. My dreams make the present, 
my past, and I have not much to complain of.” 

The Duchess of 0 having thus expressed herself, 

saluted me with a slight inclination of her head. I understood 
that this long conversation had fatigued her, and immediately 
withdrew. 

The day after my arrival, I left Remoulins to proceed to 
Nismes. My companion the marquis refused to accept an as- 
' signat of twenty-five livres which I offered him at parting. He 
pretended, that since he had been reduced to poverty, he had 
; experienced, like other people, great pleasure in gaining a live- 
; lihood by the labor of his own hands. “If it had not been for 
the revolution,” said he, “I should never haye been sensible of 
my own worth. In the time of my prosperity and opulence, I 
was not considered capable of earning twenty sous.” 

The excellent Ferules, having learned that I was about to 
start, announced his intention of being my guide. At day- 
break I found him waiting for me on the high road. He 
accompanied me nearly two leagues, and reluctantly left me at 
last to return to the poor duchess. 

“My dear sir,” said he at parting, “there’s a letter for one 
of my friends, an old professor of rhetoric, who resides at 
Nismes, and who will serve you as a ciceroni. I will an- 
swer for him in all respects \ he is the best man and the most 


214 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


trustworthy character I know. You may converse with him 
in perfect confidence.” 

“I thank you warmly for your kindness, Monsieur Durand,” 
replied I, “and shall avail myself of it. Will you, in return, 

remit this letter to the Duchess of 0 , and present to 

her my most humble respects.” 

In speaking thus, I slipped into his hand the assignat of 

twenty-five livres that the Marquis of H had refused, 

and left him at a quick pace. 

The hotel of “ The Golden Pheasant,” where I took up my 
lodging at Nismes, had, since the triumph of the revolution, 
taken the name of the “Hotel of Fraternity.” “Formerly,” 
said they, “it was only frequented by rich travelers.” When 
I arrived there it opened its doors to all classes of society. 
Whatever might be the richness of the furniture, the rooms 
were indiscriminately given up to the first comers, and conse- 
quently presented a complete scene of disorder. One common 
table and one ordinary was provided for all customers and 
travelers. 

At Marseilles, when I was there, the citizens had the right 
of purchasing seven ounces of bread each per day. At 
Nismes, the ration was only four ounces. Fortunately, roots, 
fruits, and meat, were more plentiful. 

I dined on the day of my arrival at the common table. 
Near me was seated a man of about forty-five years of age, 
whose countenance, though insignificant enough, bore the im- 
press of a facetious dignity, which led me to suppose that he 
had formerly filled some important function. His dignified 
gesture and decided tone confirmed me in that opinion, and 
made me desirous of engaging in conversation with him. 

At the' upper end of the table, a sans-culotte of the first 
water, that is, extremely ignorant, and proportionately violent, 
gave us a sketch, with much bawling and gesticulation, of his 
projects of reform for France. He demanded but five hun- 


I VISIT NISMES. 


215 


dred thousand heads ! — scarcely a fifteenth part of the popu- 
lation — in order to secure forever the welfare of the country. 

“ Ah ! the wretch ! ” murmured the stranger seated by me, 
“he would certainly do as he said if it were in his power.” 

“ Sir,” said I to him, “ I have a letter to deliver to a pro- 
fessor of rhetoric; perhaps you can oblige me with his ad- 
dress ? ” So saying, I took, from my pocket the letter of recom- 
mendation of Ferules, and handed it to my neighbor. 

“This is a curious incident,” said the latter, glancing his 
eye over the address.; “ that letter is for me.” 

“ Indeed ! Then I find we were destined to meet.” 

The stranger, whose name was Jerome Bontems, read the 
letter, and afterward gave me his hand. 

“Iam happy, sir,” cried he, “to make your acquaintance. 
From what the excellent Durand has said of you, I see that 
we shall at once understand each other.” 

On leaving the table, my new friend took me to visit the 
Arena, and several Roman antiquities, which Rismes contains. 
At the close of the day he wished me a good night, and left 
me, after spouting a dozen hexameter verses in Latin. 

The next morning it was hardly daylight, and I was in a 
deep sleep, when J awoke in surprise, from the noise of my 
door opening violently, and saw the professor of rhetoric stand- 
ing straight and motionless at my bedside. 

“ I ask pardon for awaking you so roughly,” said he, “ but 
I have just received an invitation to attend at the wedding of 
one of my old pupils, and I was unwilling to set out without 
informing you of my absence. But now I think of it; the 
weather is beautiful, and you have nothing to detain you at 
Nismes, why should you not accompany me? I promise you 
a hearty welcome.” 

“I thank you,” replied I; “I see no reason why I should 
not accept your offer. By-the-bye, does your former pupil 
live in the direction of Sauve ? ” 


216 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ About five leagues from that city.” 

“ That happens very conveniently. In accompanying you I 
shall be so far on my route.” 

In a few minutes I was ready, and we soon started. It 
was noon when we reached a large village about five leagues 
from Nismes. I was overcome with fatigue, and proposed to 
my companion that we should stop apd take one hour’s repose. 

“ We are at the end of our journey,” replied he. “ Hold ! 
do you see that large and handsome house about five hundred 
yards off? That’s the mayor’s house.” 

“ What is that to me ? I have nothing to do with it.” 

“ I beg your pardon, you have to be present at a wedding ; 
and my old pupil is just the mayor of this borough, and that 
is his house.” 

We were received by the municipal officer with a hearty 
politeness, very unusual at this period. The dessert had just 
been brought in, when a man, wearing a blue dress, and hav- 
ing round his body a leather girdle, from which hung two 
drum-sticks, entered the breakfast room, and saluting the 
mayor respectfully, asked him if it was time to begin to march. 

“When you please,” answered our host. “ I am ready.” 

Soon after, we heard, in front of the windows of the room 
in which we were, the sound of the drums, fifes, and cornets. 

“Will you come, citizen?” said the mayor, smiling. 

“ Is it the wedding procession ? ” cried Jerome, addressing 
his former pupil, “hold, that’s rather singular; I have not yet 
seen the bride.” 

“I shall not be married till to-morrow, my dear master. 
That music, or charivari, announces the commencement of a 
civic feast.” 

“ If it is that of Reason, I have already been present at it 
on two different occasions ; and I must bea* of vou not to insist 
upon my accompanying you,” said I earnestly, to the mayor. 

“No, citizen; the fete we are to celebrate to-day, in con- 


FETE OF THE SUPREME BEING. 21 7 

formity to a decree of the convention, is that of the Supreme 
Being.” 

“ Which means that, with pomp and noise, they are about to 
perpetrate a sacrilege. Faith, I am desirous of knowing how 
far human folly will go. Let us set off.” 

We found at the door, the municipal officers of the borough, 
and a group of peasants, armed with pikes. On the arrival of 
the mayor, the cortege began to move, preceded by a huge 
fellow, who carried upon a brazen cross, the arms of which 
were cut off, a woollen cap of a dubious red. 

We first crossed a cemetery, in which the tombs were over- 
turned, and the gravestones broken and scattered about, and 
half hidden with tall weeds. We then entered an old church. 
This house of God had met with no more respect than the 
dwelling of the dead. It was the emblem of chaos. Let the 
reader figure to himself a heap of slabs and tumulary stones, 
torn from the floor by the saltpetre-men, and obstructing the 
nave of the church; by the side of this wreck, stoves and 
baskets; to the right and left of the altar, a complete pile of 
human bones, fragments of saints, coats of arms, and broken 
sculptured benches; lastly, upon the table of the altar they 
had large boards covered with verdure ; upon the boards, in 
the place formerly occupied by the tabernacle, was a chair, 
left vacant for the mayor. Scarcely was he seated, than the 
cortege? consisting of fifty persons, surrounded him, and he 
expressed himself in nearly the following terms : — 

Citizens, spectators, assembled to celebrate the feast of the 
Supreme Being, the creator, but uncreated, whom the con- 
vention wills, by its decree of Prairial, that we should honor 
to-day. Oh, that I had the harp of Rousseau of Paris, and 
the genius of Rousseau of Geneva, to sing worthily the praises 
of Him, who was before the world, and who will remain after 
it; of Him who gives us our harvests, and who instils into our 
hearts the love of our country, and of liberty. There are 


218 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


some here better qualified than myself to fulfill this glorious 
and difficult task; let them come forward, and I will be the 
first to applaud their eloquence. In the meanwhile, and since 
my inexperience hinders me from expressing the holy enthu- 
siasm which agitates me, allow, at least, my voice, the echo of 
my heart, to intone the hymn composed by order of the 
Committee of Public Safety, in honor of the Great Creator of 
all things.” 

The mayor then drew from the pocket of his carmagnole a 
roll of music, and after sol-faing in an under voice, he attacked, 
in an outrageous falsetto, the well-known hymn, “ Father of 
the Universe, Supreme Intelligence ! ” <fcc. 

At the end of each couplet, the drum |?eat, the fifes and 
cornets struck up with a most disorderly zeal, and the ex-clerk 
of the parish, the same comical fellow who bore the red cap 
on the brazen cross, rattled a large key lustily between the 
.extended legs of a pair of tongs. Never in my life have I 
heard such a clatter. 

When the hymn was finished, the attendants, adhering no 
doubt to the prepared programme of the fete, began shouting, 
perfectly unconscious of the absurdity as well as blasphemy of 
their words — “Long live the Eternal Being! Long live the 
Supreme Being!” 

“ What do you think of all this farce, officer ? ” asked Jerome 
Bontems, in an under tone. 

“I think, my dear poet,” replied I, in the same tone, “ that 
the behavior of the attendants is too decent to allow of the 
supposition that they are at all conscious of the sacrilege they 
have committed; they think they have done well. For the 
rest, I suppose the farce is over, and we are about to separate.” 

“I much doubt that,” replied the professor; “it is rare, in 
these days of eloquence, when France is punished by the rage 
for spouting, that amongst a company of fifty persons, one will 
not make an oration. We must wait for another discourse. I 


FETE OF THE SUPREME BEING. 219 

only hope that it will not be longer than that of the 
mayor.” 

Jerome Bontems was right. The cries of “Long live the 
Eternal!” had scarcely ceased, when a young man, wearing 
large boots, rose from the bench on which he was seated, and 
advancing to the middle of the wreck, which obstructed the 
nave of the church, demanded the word. 

Silence not being readily established, the mayor began to 
ring one of the little bells which are hung on the necks of 
sheep, and after a time obtained a hearing. 

“The word is with you, citizen officer of health,” said he to 
the new orator. 

The young man immediately took off his hat and put on a 
red cap, which he drew out of his pocket, and returning to his 
place where he first sat: — 

“ Citizen,” cried he, in a sharp, piercing voice, “ the supersti- 
tion of Sunday formerly filled this place, which the Decade has 
rendered lonely. That proves to us, brothers and friends, that 
formerly the number of imbeciles greatly exceeded that of 
sensible men, and that the contrary is the case to-day. In 
this temple, the walls of which are still black with the smoke 
of the wax tapers lighted by superstition, I wish to make the 
torch of reason shine in your sight. Till now they have de- 
ceived you; I bring you truth and happiness. Brothers and 
friends, these words of God — soul, immortality, hell, paradise — 
have been invented to make you pay the tithes; to draw 
money from your purses ! These are tales invented by base 
men. Our grandfathers have had the simplicity to give faith 
to these ingenious and perfidious fables; their grandchildren 
will have the good sense to laugh at them. 

“ The plant, brothers and friends, has no other advantage 
over the earth that nourishes it, than its vegetative faculty; 
the animal, over the vegetable which feeds it, than the sen- 
sitive faculty ; lastly, man, over the animal on which he feeds, 


220 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


than the faculty of touch and speech. What truth results 
from this observation? That the plant, the animal, and the 
man, after their dissolution, become equal in a dust of the 
same nature! Banish, then, all fear of another world. Be 
happy here and obe}*- — so far at least as not to show disrespect 
to the republic and the convention — your desires and passions. 

“ We cannot deny, brothers and friends, that the convention 
has established the feast of the Supreme Being; but it is ne- 
cessary for me to reveal all its thoughts to you. In thus acting, 
it has wished, in the sequel, to dethrone God. Soon, when 
that old and ridiculous superstition shall be uprooted, it will, 
in its turn, abolish that Supreme Being, which serves us as a 
transition in passing from darkness to light, and will then only 
recognise the fete of truth. 

“ I anticipate here, brothers and friends, in the midst of you 
all, who are or who will become philosophers, the celebration 
of that future feast, the only logic worthy of a sensible 
people. 

“No more heaven, no more God, no more tales, no more 
Supreme Being! Long live the material enjoyments of life, 
the triumph of good sense, absolute liberty and fraternity !” 

After pronouncing this speech, the officer of health, who 
had been violently excited, wiped his forehead, which steamed 
with perspiration, and sat down upon his bench, to the noise 
of fifes, drums, and the plaudits of the mayor, the children, 
and the ex-clerk. 

For myself, in spite of the sovereign contempt which these 
monstrosities produced in me, I was indignant beyond ex- 
pression. 

“Why have you stenographed that infamous discourse?” 
asked the professor of rhetoric, seeing me fold up my tablets, 
“I have heard that tirade to-day for the thousanth time.” 

“ It is just because that speech affords me an exact and 
complete example of the eloquence of the day, that I wish to 


FETE OF THE SUPREME BEING. 221 

preserve it. In fifty years from this, it will present a valuable 
document for the study of our epoch.” 

I hoped that after the long exhibition of hatred and folly 
uttered by the officer of health, the orators, finding no other 
sacrilege to commit, would desist, and that this deplorable fete 
would have terminated, but I was mistaken. Scarcely had 
the officer of health seated himself, than a firm and accented 
voice, drowning the noise of the fifes, cornets and drums, de- 
manded to be heard. 

The new orator was a large and fine old man, whose calm 
and dignified countenance, upright and still flexible carriage, 
bespoke one of those simple and virtuous lives, which leaves 
to the mind all its intelligence, and to the body all its vigor to 
the extreme limits of life. Time had deprived his head of its 
hair, but had not extinguished the fire of his eye. His face 
presented one of those energetic and placid types which the 
pencil of Greuze has depicted. 

Supported by a knotty stick, and his right arm extended, 
the old man remained a moment absorbed in his reflections. 
A profound silence was kept. 

“Who is this old man?” I asked of Jerome Bontems. 

“He is one of the notables of the consul-general of the 
commune,” he replied. “ But listen, he is going to speak. I 
am deceived if the officer of health enjoys his triumph long.” 

Before the old man had s|R>ken a word, I was quite pre- 
possessed in favor of what he was going to say. The reader, 
therefore, will judge of my disappointment when I heard him 
deliver himself in patois. 

“Why does he not speak in French?” said I to the ex- 
professor. 

“ For the excellent reason that there are not in this meeting 
ten persons who speak that language. Do you think, then, that 
if our brave peasants had rightly comprehended the speech of 
the officer of health, they would have applauded him ? No, 


222 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


certainly, far from it. The mountebank would have got his 
deserts. Let us listen, I beg of you ; nature falls short of art, 
it is true, but it produces at times happy bursts of eloquence,” 

“Will you translate this speech to me as fast as he de- 
livers it?” 

“ Very willingly.” 

As the notable of the consul-general expressed himself with 
a solemn deliberation, it was easy for my friend to fulfill his 
promise. 

The old man maintained the tone of language that I ex- 
pected from him — that of the heart. He began at first by 
describing the incommensurable power and unwearied good- 
ness of God; then translating the discourse of the officer of 
health, he asked those present if it was their desire to tolerate 
such blasphemies.” 

At this question, which was proposed without emphasis or 
anger, cries of rage rose from all parts, and the peasants, 
leaving the benches on which they were seated, rushed like an 
avalanche toward the unlucky miscreant, who, pale and dis- 
mayed, began to tremble all over and beg for mercy. 

The exasperated country people would hear nothing, and 
the scene threatened a tragical termination, in spite of the 
efforts of the mayor, who descended from the arm-chair, and 
interposed his authority between the fury of the auditors and 
the object of their anger, wheifti man of about fifty years of 
aglj, clothed with a meekness very uncommon at that period, 
and of a stern and imposing carriage, advanced gravely into 
the midst of the squabble, and in a serious and severe voice 
called for silence. At the appearance of this unknown person, 
whom I had not before noticed, the calm was instantly re- 
established. 

“ My friends,” said he, designating by an inclination of the 
head his sovereign contempt for the pale and trembling 
officer of health, “it is not indignation, but rather pity, that 


THE EX-CRIMINAL JUDGE. 


223 


we ought to feel for the senseless. Send away that unhappy 
wretch who disturbs the ceremony, but do not ill-treat him. 
He says, he does not believe in God; you see he is already an 
object of pity.” 

The stranger, after having spoken thus, which the old man 
translated into patois, returned again toward the medical 
officer, and pointed with his finger to the door of the church. 
The atheist did not wait for entreaty. He saved himself in 
the midst of a concert of shouts and cries. 

“ What is that man ? ” .1 asked of my companion. “ Is he 
a Commissary of the Public Safety, that he possesses so much 
power? But no, the authority which he has just exhibited 
does not prove a revolutionary spirit.” 

“ That man,” replied the professor of rhetoric, “ is, like you 
and me, a plain citizen ; but his eminently honorable character, 
and his private virtues, appreciated as they deserve to be by 
the country folks, give him great influence over them. Before 
the revolution, he filled the important office of criminal judge. 

His name is de N— : would you wish to be presented to 

him?” 

“ Faith, I cannot refuse. Honest people, who are not afraid 
to appear such, are so rare now, that when chance throws one 
in your way, you ought not to quit his company without 
letting him see the estimation in which you hold him.” 

On leaving the church, the procession dispersed on all sides, 
and I returned with my companion, the regent, to the mayor’s 
house. The first person that I perceived on arriving was the 
ex-criminal judge, de N . 

This last, on seeing Jerome Bontems, smiled, and affection- 
ately offered him his hand, calling him his master. My friend, 
according to his promise, immediately presented me to M. de 

N , and pronounced a magnificent panegyric on my private 

virtues. 

The sun was* sensibly declining in the horizon, when I 
10 


224 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


proposed to the professor to get on my way to Sauve, but his 
former pupil, the mayor, whose marriage was to take place the 
next day, would not allow him to leave. Somewhat annoyed 
at the idea of remaining another day in this town, where I 
knew no one, and where no motives of curiosity or feeling 
detained me, I thought of pursuing my journey alone, when 

the ex-judge N •, guessing probably my chagrin, proposed 

my taking a seat in his carriage, and accompanying him to his 
house. 

“ I live only a league from Sauve,” said he, “ and as that 
city lies in your route, I do not well see what motive you can 
have in refusing my proposal.” 

I gladly accepted this offer, and in a quarter of an hour 
we were rolling toward the country-house of the criminal 
judge. 


CHAPTER VII. 


The Ex-Criminal Judge and his Family — His High Principle— His Nephew Maurice 

— “Open in the Name of the Law” — Arrest of N His Imprisonment at 

Sauve — Scene in the House of Detention — A Protesting Prisoner — A quarrel for 
Horses — Jouveau again — I bargain with him for the Release of the Ex-Criminal 
Judge — I arrive at St. Hyppolite — A Sanguinary Barber — I wander among the 
Mountains of Cevennes — A Fortunate Encounter — Supper, Bed and Breakfast for 
Nothing — Citizen Rose, and the Convent of Saint Benoit — Arrival at Mende — My 
Father’s Friend — Citizen Larouvrette— Charrier — A Royalist Victory, and Sub- 
sequent Defeat — Fate of Charrier — A Proposed Excursion. 

During the short journey, I had many opportunities of dis- 
covering and appreciating the character and the extensive 

information of N . Although our political opinions were 

not the same, we discussed, without anger, the opposite prin- 
ciples which we professed. 

The country-house inhabited by N and his family, was 

handsome, spacious, and indicative of health. “ Follow me, 
my friend,” said he to me, on throwing the reins to a servant, 
who had opened the great gates; “I am going to introduce 
you to iffy family.” 

Two females were waiting for him on the ground floor, 
who, on seeing him, advanced and tenderly embraced him. 

“ My friend,” said the criminal judge, addressing the elder 
of the two ladies, “ allow me to present to you an officer whom 
I have met to-day, and who has agreed to accept our 
hospitality.” 

Madame de N hastened to assure me that she felt 

indebted to her husband for the good fortune he had thus 


226 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


procured for her, and then invited me into the parlor. The 
daughter of my host, who had gone away, probably to give 
some orders, soon returned. I then, certainly, beheld the 
prettiest creature that poet ever dreamt of. Scarcely seven- 
teen years of age, she presented one of those splendid and 
modest beauties which it is easier to admire than to analyze, 
for everything about them is soul and sentiment. 

“ Will you please come to supper, father,” said she, tenderly 
embracing the judge, who returned her caresses with warmth; 
“ the cloth is laid.” 

I immediately offered my arm to the wife of my host, when 
many hasty knocks resounded at the street door, and caused 
us to start suddenly. 

“ Who can come to visit us at such an hour ? ” cried Madame 
N , whose arm trembled under mine. 

“ Undoubtedly a friend,” replied her husband, quietly. 

A minute after, the parlor door opened, and a young man, 
booted and spurred, and bearing in his hand a riding whip, 
presented himself to our view. 

“ Maurice ! ” cried Madame N , advancing eagerly toward 

the new-comer ; “ what is the cause of this, my friend ? I am 
glad to see you; and yet I don’t know, but a secret presen- 
timent tells me that your visit here at such an hour, and 
without being announced, forebodes bad news. Speak, explain 
yourself, I am dying with anxiety.” 

“ You disturb yourself unnecessarily, my good aunt,” replied 

he who Madame N called Maurice; “my business has 

conducted me within a quarter of a league of your house, and 
finding myself so near you, I did not wish to pass without 
paying you a visit: that’s all.” 

“ Is that true, Maurice ? Do you hide nothing from me ?” 

“ Nothing; aunt, I assure you,” said the young man, blushing 
slightly. 

I remarked that during all the time of supper, the restless 


MAURICE. 227 

eye of the young man constantly sought that of his uncle, and 
that the latter made a strong effort to avoid it. 

“ My good friend,” said my host, addressing his wife, when 
we rose from table, “ I have several commissions to intrust to 
Maurice, and I shall appropriate your handsome nephew to my 
own use. To-morrow morning I will return him to you free 
from all business.” 

. Mons. N spoke this with such complete tranquillity, that 

his wife was reassured, and a little after she went out with her 
daughter. 

“ Well, Maurice,” said my host, turning to the young man, 
“ now we find ourselves alone, you may speak without fear. I 
am in danger, is it not so? You may speak before this officer; 
I will answer for his honor and prudence.” 

“ Well, then, my poor uncle,” cried the young man earnestly, 
“ I must confess to you, that you are denounced again, and 
have no time to lose in taking flight; for if the intelligence I 
have received is correct, they must be this very hour in pursuit 
of you.” 

“That word is incorrect, Maurice,” answered the ex-judge; 
“ they cannot be in pursuit of me, when I am not in flight.” 

But, uncle, you will at least set out immediately.” 

“ No, Maurice ; my conscience reproaches me in nothing, 
and I shall remain.” 

“ Then you are lost!” cried the young man, in despair. 

“ What! do you wish me to abandon your aunt and cousin! 
No, Maurice ; as head of the family, my place is in my own 
house ; do not insist, your entreaties will be useless ! Know 
the favorite maxim of my life, — do what is right, and come 
what may, by the grace of God ! But tell me, Maurice,” he 
continued, “ this is probably a new denunciation, to which I 
shall owe my future arrest?” 

“Alas! Yes,' uncle! Some wretch has laid before the 
Committee of Public Safety a letter which was addressed to 


228 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


you by an emigrant, by which you are deeply compromised, 
and which he affirms has fallen into his hands by chance.” 

“That’s a lie, Maurice; I am in correspondence with no 
emio-rant. The informer himself is the author of that letter. 

O 

I can perceive, in this dastardly method, the cowardice of a 
secret enemy.” 

The reader will have no difficulty in conceiving how much 
this dialogue between the uncle and nephew, unintelligible to 
me, but announcing an approaching catastrophe, must perplex 
me. I listened with intense anxiety. 

“Will you,” said I, “put on my uniform, and take my letter 
of route ? By that means you would be enabled to avoid your 
enemies.” 

“ I thank you heartily for your offer,” replied Mons. de 

N , in a broken voice; “ I can only repeat to you, that for 

no consideration in the world, would I withdraw myself by 
flight from the false accusation which attaches to me.” 

“But still, do not forget that you are a father!” cried I, 
“ and that your fate is bound up in that of your family.” 

“Enough! Enough! I beg of you to hold your tongue!” 
cried my host, interrupting me with extreme eagerness; “the 
temptations you present to me can neither weaken my courage, 
nor make me change my resolution, but it may render my 
grfef more bitter; do not insist any more, then, I beg of you.” 

“ Hearken ! ” said I, “ that is a troop of horse on march. 
Yes, I hear the noise made by the clang of the sabres.” Alas, 
I was not mistaken, for soon in the silence of night we distin- 
guished the step of the horses; and then a little after, we heard 
violent blows struck on the outer door, which opened to the 
country. 

Mons. de N was going to open the door to the armed 

force, when the opposite door, pushed violently from the out- 
side, opened, and his wife entered. 

“ What is the matter, my friend?” said she, rushing toward 


j OPEN IN THE NAME OF THE LAW. 229 

J her husband, whom she seized in her arms; “what are those 
knocks which are shaking the door? What is this noise of 
swords, and this murmur of voices which reach us ? ” 

“ My dear friend,” replied Mons. de N , 'taking his wife’s 

hand affectionately in his, “ I know that your soul is great and 
strong, that you have always put confidence in God, and that, 
if ever misfortune overtakes you, you will know how to present , 
your sorrows to Him. Yes, my well-beloved, in an hour we 
shall be separated. But be of good courage ! I need not tell 
you that I am innocent of the crime of which they accuse me, 
and soon, I hope, I shall come triumphant out of this 
trial.” 

“ Is it then true that you are about to be arrested ? ” cried 
she, in so piercing an accent that it affected me. to the very 
heart. 

“ Yes, my friend ; but I am innocent, and God, in whom I 
place all my trust, will not abandon me. IsTow, my dear wife, 

I entreat you to dry your tears, and resume your fortitude. 
You must not tremble and weep before my gaolers; do not 
suffer your tears and despair to depose against my innocence ; 
for the sake of my safety be calm, I conjure you!” 

Whilst Mons. de N expressed himself thus, the blows 

against the outer door redoubled in violence, and we heard a 
mournful voice crying, — “ In the name of the law, open!” 

“ Obey them,” said the ex-judge, to two servants who had 
just entered the dining hall to receive his orders. 

He had scarcely finished speaking, when twenty gendarmes 
j filled the dining hall in which we were. 

“Which is he among you who is called citizen N ?” 

demanded an officer, who held a roll of paper in his hand. 

“ You know well, that it is I, lieutenant,” answered Mons. de 

N . 

“ The fact is, citizen, we have known each other a long- 
time ; but you know the law has nothing to do with individual 


230 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


and private feelings. You acknowledge yourself to be citizen 

N ?” ' ' 

The ex-judge made an affirmative motion of his head. 

“ In that case,” continued the officer of gendarmery, “ in the 
name of the law, I arrest you ! Soldiers, surround this man, 
and do not lose sight of him.” 

“ I am at your command, lieutenant,” said Mons. de N > 

without losing anything of his serenity ; “ let us set out.” 

“ Not yet! I must first set the seal upon your papers.” 

“ Here’s the key of my secretary. Will you permit me to 
open it ? ” 

“Yes, citizen, for I know that you are an honest man!” 

After having opened the secretary, Mons. de N took a 

purse full of gold, and a portfolio stuffed with assignats, which 
were found in it, and held these two in his hand. 

“ Hide them,” said the lieutenant of gendarmery quickly, in 
a low voice. “ I cannot answer for my men ; a denunciation 
is so easily made.” 

Turning himself about, Mons. de N perceived me at 

his side, and slipped the two articles into my hand, murmuring-. 

“ Ah ! blessed be God ! I feel more easy. I leave my wife 
and daughter above the accesses of destitution.” 

I will not speak of the distracting scene of the departure. 

Although Madame de N made the most heroic efforts to 

preserve her fortitude, at the sight of her daughter, who broke 
out in sobbing, she could no longer master the grief which 
wrung her heart, and she uttered piercing shrieks. 

“ Let us set out, lieutenant,” said Mons. de N , who, at 

this scene, probably felt his courage failing, and did not wish to 
be overcome. 

“ Truly, citizen N ,” cried the officer, “ I would give a 

year’s pay to see you at liberty! After all,” continued the 

gendarme, raising his voice so loud that Madame de N 

could hear him, in spite of the sorrow which absorbed her; 


THE ARREST. 


231 


“ however, knowing the futile cause for which you are appre- 
hended, I believe thdt you will soon be set at liberty ! To tell 
you the truth, I look upon your arrest as a mere formality.” 

“ Can it be true, citizen ? ” demanded Madame de N , 

with such an outburst of feeling, that I felt the tears rush into 
| my eyes. “ But no; 1 understand your generous falsehood! ” 

“ Citizen, upon my word of a soldier,” said the officer, 
twisting his whiskers furiously, “ upon my word of a soldier, 
I will not deceive you, and have only said what I think.” 

“ You see, my good friend, that you are wrong to despair 

thus,” added Mons. de N , casting a stealthy look full of 

gratitude at the officer ; “ Come, embrace me for the last time, 
and say farewell; a few days hence, we shall be again 
re-united.” 

“ Let us set out ! ” cried the officer ; “ I have left a convoy 
of prisoners at Sauve, and cannot remain longer absent.” 

“Maurice!” cried Madame de N , pushing her nephew 

gently forward by the arm, “I hope you will accompany your 
uncle.” 

“ But, aunt, 1 don’t know that I ought to leave you alone.” 

“ Oh ! fear nothing. Now I know that my husband’s ab- 
sence will be but temporary, I am satisfied. Go, Maurice, 
you will bring back to me the last orders of my husband. 
And who knows but that you will find at Sauve the order for 
his liberation, and thus return together ! ” 

“It is possible, my good aunt,” answered Maurice, in so 
broken a voice, that had Madame de N been less ab- 

sorbed in the thought of the approaching deliverance of her 
husband, she would have perceived that all hope for her 
was lost. 

Followed and preceded by gendarmes, Mons. de N at 

last went from that house, which an hour before presented so 
perfect a scene of happiness, but which he now left the habi- 
tation of despair. I followed him. 

10 * 


232 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


We crossed the court in profound silence; and it was not 

till the gates closed behind us that the unfortunate N , 

who had previously shown so much strength of mind, paid his 
tribute of weakness to humanity. The lieutenant addressing 
him, said: “Citizen, I have known you for a long time, and I 
know that no man is more trustworthy. Will you promise me 
that you will not attempt to fly, and I will let you walk with 
your two friends, at liberty to converse at your ease ? ” 

“ I engage not to attempt to fly,” answered Mons. de N . 

“Allow me to thank you for your generosity ; believe me that 
I cannot find words to express all the gratitude I feel.” 

After this reply the officer pushed his horse on amongst his 
men, and we remained alone. Separated by about ten or 
twelve paces from the escort, it was easy for us to converse 
without being overheard, but all three of us had our hearts so 
full that we maintained a mournful silence. 

It was near two o’clock in the morning before we arrived 
at Sauve. A short time before reaching that little city, the 

lieutenant of gendarmery had caused Mons. de N to be 

placed in the midst of his soldiers. Maurice and I, after hav- 
ing given the last grasp of the hand to the unfortunate man, 
took refuge in an inn, to pass the rest of the night. 

It is unnecessary to add, that we thought not of availing 
ourselves of the bad bed which we found in our room. Seated 
opposite each other, in our rickety and worm-eaten chairs, we 
maintained a painful silence. 

At the first dawn of day, we hastened to present ourselves 
at the house of detention, where the ex-criminal judge had 
been added to the convoy of prisoners who had arrived in the 
evening. There I learned that the *convoy were to march 
toward Paris, and that the prisoners were destined to appear 
before Fouquier Tinville, and that we could not see the prisoner 
until two o’clock. 

After a walk of some hours in the environs of the city, for 




COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE. 


233 


we were both so much agitated that rest would have been im- 
possible for us, we returned to the house of detention. 

“ You cannot enter, citizens,” said the turnkey, “at least, not 
without an order from one of the members of the Committee 
of Public Safety; the warrant is peremptory in that respect.” 

The president of the Committee of Public Safety, to whose 
house we at once repaired, at first formally refused giving us 

a pass, but having learned that it related to Mons. de JST , 

he immediately changed his manner, and gave us the authority 
we solicited. 

The house of detention, of the little city of Sauve, was an 
ancient convent, which, on the spur of the moment, was appro- 
priated to this new purpose. When we presented our pass 
we learned that the prisoners were at breakfast in common in 
the ancient refectory. 

After crossing a long corridor, divided by several strong 
doors, we reached the refectory where were the prisoners. 

Mons. de N seeing us, rose hastily from the table, and 

advanced toward us, holding out his hand — 

“Maurice! Sir!” cried he, on approaching us, “I certainly 
cannot blame this last proof of friendship and devotedness 
that you wish to give me in coming to see me here, but I 
confess that I should have preferred not seeing you again. I 
have been making an effort to detach myself entirely from 
earth, and anything that recalls an affection to me weakens my 
courage.” He then, took his nephew by the arm, and drew 
him to the end of the refectory. 

I employed the interval in noticing with more attention his 
companions in misfortune. Two of them attracted my more 
especial observation. The first was a man, still young, clothed 
in black with extreme neatness, who had an air of hauteur, 
almost of dignity, but little calculated to attract sympathy. 
Seeming to care very little about his companions, he appeared 
absorbed in his reflections; and from time to time a most 


234 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


disdainful smile passed across his lips. The second personage 
whom I remarked, was an old woman, dressed ridiculously in 
fashion, forming a striking contrast with the pitiable condition 
in which she was placed, who uttered in a loud voice the most 
anti-revolutionary discourse. 

She spoke of that “good Mons. Robespierre,” and that 
“ excellent blood-letter Marat, 1 ” with a rage and contempt in- 
credible. The gendarmes present, not being able to impose 
silence on her, had concluded by treating her as an old fool, 
and allowing her to exhaust her anger at her ease. It was 
evident to me that the language of this woman was greatly 
opposed to the views of the other prisoners, who dared neither 
approve them, for fear of aggravating their position, nor blame 
them, lest they should pass for sans-culottes. 

“That which vexes me,” said the old lady, “is to think that 
Messieurs the sans-culottes, having married our chamber- 
maids, I shall be compelled, before mounting the guillotine, to 
suffer myself to be undressed by assistant executioners.” 

“Madame la Marquise,” answered the man in black, who till 
then had maintained a haughty silence, “our birth places us 
above all these indignities.” 

“'Our birth, sir!” repeated the Marquise, sharply, “ say my 
birth, if you please; but don’t talk of yours. Nobody is igno- 
rant of the fact that your father, who was first a cloth-worker, 
and afterwards a manufacturer, has bequeathed you a very 
plebeian name, which you have thought proper first to disguise 
and then ennoble ; but you by no means belong to our caste.” 

“ Madame ! ” cried the prisoner, in a rage, “ I should never 
have expected such an observation from you. Everybody 

knows that if you have married the Marquis de C , that 

does not prevent you from being the grand-daughter of an 
apothecary.” 

“Insolence! My grand-father an apothecary! Rascal! 
Calumniator! However, I am a great fool to put myself out 


THE SUICIDE. 


235 


about you. Truly, the idea, that rather than sue to all the 
patriots and bare-foots of your family, you prefer mounting 
the scaffold, in order to pass for a ci-devant, makes me split 
with laughter, for you have absolutely stolen the punishment 
that awaits you.” 

We had been nearly an hour with the prisoners when the 
gaoler came to warn us that we must withdraw. 

The parting farewell of Maurice and his uncle was affecting. 
For the first time since his arrest, the criminal judge showed 
symptoms of weakness, and could not withhold a tear in pro- 
nouncing the names of his wife and daughter. 

“Adieu, sir,” said he, embracing me. “May God reward, 
by a happy life, the generosity you have shown me.” 

I had only strength enough to hasten away without replying. 

On going out, we found the greater part of the inhabitants 
collected before the prison gates, waiting the departure of the 
condemned. We joined them: already the two carriages ap- 
propriated to this transport had arrived, and half the escort 
were wheeling about on horseback, when the gaoler came out 
-with a look of alarm, and addressing the crowd : — 

“Is there a doctor here?” he asked, in a loud voice. “A 
miserable ci-devant has plunged a knife into his breast, in 
order to avoid the punishment he deserves.” 

A doctor soon arrived, and entered the prison, in order to 
preserve for the scaffold the ci-devant, who attempted to save 
himself from it by a voluntary death. 

At the moment in which the provincial iEsculapius passed 
the threshold of the house of seclusion, I seized the lappet of 
his coat, and asked him who was the prisoner that had at- 
tempted to commit suicide, and if he had succeeded ? 

“I don’t know him personally,” answered he; “he is a 
man dressed in black, and about forty years of age. He has 
just had his last struggle, and has not more than five minutes 
to live. His companions are terrified ; but there is one silly 


236 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


old woman, ridiculously dressed out, who seems not at all 
affected by this spectacle. She only shrugged her shoulders 
with an air of pity, and repeated in an under tone : — 

“‘Monsieur was afraid of finding amongst the assistant exe- 
cutioners some cousin-german of his, which might have com- 
promised his nobility. That’s the reason he stabbed himself 
so bravely.’ ” 

“ Then,” cried I, without leaving hold of the doctor’s coat, 
“it is not citizen N who is the suicide !” 

“Not at all,” answered he; “I know personally citizen 

N , who, in fact, I have just seen among the prisoners. 

He is a man of great mind, who does not fear the scaffold, and 
whose religion will prevent him from attempting his life.” 

A movement which now took place in the crowd, indicated 
that the prisoners were coming forth; and a little after we 
saw in the midst of the gendarmes the victims devoted to the 
fury of Fouquier Tinville. 

N appeared with a calm and dignified air, which never 

abandoned him, and raised his eyes toward heaven with an 
undefinable expression of melancholy resignation. 

“ Come forward ! ” cried the officer of gendarmery, who 
commanded the escort. The calling over of the prisoners, 
which had already been done on their leaving prison, was 
renewed when they got into the carriages. 

“ The citizeness A R ,” said the officer, after hav- 

ing called a dozen names. No one answered. 

“The citizeness A R ,” repeated the lieutenant, 

fearing that one of the prisoners entrusted to his care had 
escaped. 

The silence continued. 

“ Does no one answer ? ” continued the officer, turning pale. 

“ But I am a fool to trouble myself,” resumed he ; “ my list 
bears the names of four women, and I see four women here. 
It is bad temper and nothing else.” 


TIIE MARQUISE. 


237 


u But you Lave not called me, Mons. gendarme,” said the 
old marquise. 

“ Not called you ? Who are you, then ? ” 

“I am called the Marquise A de R de V , 

and not the citizeness A R . I give you to under- 

stand that I will not put up with any such insults.” 

“An old fool! Come, get into the coach! ” 

“ Not at all, gendarme. I will not get into the carriage. I 
protested the moment they came to arrest me, and I will 
continue to protest all along the road. I do not recognize in 
your Messieurs Robespierre, the right of apprehending in the 
name of the republic, an illegal association of thieves and assas- 
sins, a woman ennobled by a dozen quarterings. My head is 
in your power, but not my honor; you can conduct me to the 
scaffold, I know; but my duty, I repeat, is to protest, and I 
will protest.” 

“Be it so, old lady, protest as much as you please; only 
make haste and get into the coach, or I shall be angry.” 

“ My will is to remain, and I will not get into the coach,” 
replied the old marquise, with ludicrous resolution. 

“You must not be surprised, lieutenant,” said the brigadier 
of gendarmery. “ This old witch always plays the same game. 
We have always been compelled to use force.” 

“Well! do to-day as you have done on other days,” replied 
the lieutenant. 

Three or four gendarmes immediately sprang toward the 
marquise.; but the old woman taking from under her mantle 
a bloody knife, the same with which the son of the ex-cloth 
worker had accomplished his suicide, placed her back against 
the gate and prepared for her defense. 

At this theatrical stroke, the gendarmes remained motion- 
less ; there was so much ridicule united with so much danger 
in contending with an old lady, that they scarcely knew what 
course to take. 


238 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ Lieutenant,” said one of them, laughing, “ must I go and 
procure a reinforcement of artillery? We shall never come 
to an end with this old Joan of Arc, without cannon!” 

“Indeed, I am wrong to threaten you,” said the marquise; 
“on reflecting, it will be better to use this weapon against my- 
self. If one of you take one step toward me, I will plunge this 
knife into my heart.” 

“Let us see, Madame la Marquise,” said the lieutenant, 
attempting to gain her favor by this concession. “ What do 
you wish for ? What do you require ? I am quite ready, if it 
does not interfere with my duty, to grant you all the satisfac- 
tion possible. Speak — ” 

The marquise was about to reply, when a gendarme who 
had slipped behind the coach, threw a coverlet over her head : 
then rushing upon her, he seized her with all his force, before 
she could make any use of her weapon. Loud bursts of 
laughter rose amongst the crowd ; in fact, it was difficult for 
me not to share in the mirth which it provoked. 

“That’s the same as being vanquished,” said the marquise, 
whilst they hoisted her into the coach. “I h^ve only yielded 
to force, and the honor of the principle is saved. I still protest 
against the republic.” 

The crowd had already cleared a passage for the funereal 
convoy, when a hew incident occurred to stop its departure. 
A stable-boy mounted, without a saddle, on a jaded horse, 
advanced toward the lieutenant and said some words to him 
in a low voice. 

“Are you a fool?” cried the officer. “What! do you sup- 
pose that I am going to take the horses out of my carriages 
and give them to you ? ” 

“But, lieutenant, there is no choice; it concerns the secretarv, 

general and private, of the representative N of Marseilles, 

the citizen Jouveau.” 

At the name of Jouveau, a sudden inspiration crossed my 


MY COUSIN JOUVEAU. 


239 


mind, and although I had parted from him on very bad terms, 
I resolved to make an appeal to him in favor of the criminal 
judge. 

Addressing the officer of the gendarmery : “ Colleague,” said 
I, “ the citizen Jouveau is my relative. If you authorize me, I 
will do my best to arrange this affair.” 

“You will render me a great service,” replied the gendarme. 
“ Go, and I will wait for you.” 

I immediately jumped en croupe behind the stable-boy, and 
presently got off before the posting house, where stood a car- 
riage, waiting for horses. 

“Well!” cried Jouveau himself, from the carriage window, 
addressing the stable-boy; “this new turn-out, where is it?” 

“They cannot give it to you, cousin,” replied I, slipping off 
the horse, and running to the coach door. At sight of me, 
Jouveau made a grimace, in no respect flattering to my self- 
love; I saw that he would willingly have cut me. 

“What, Jouveau!” said I, “is this the way that you requite 
me? Ungrateful! You knit your eyebrows on perceiving me, 
whilst I run to you with open arms.” 

“Cousin,” replied Jouveau, “if you are going to repeat your 
moral lectures, I shall treat you as an enemy ; but if you are 
converted to the good principles, it is quite different, and I give 
you my hand with all my heart.” 

“Yes, cousin,” replied I, affecting a pleasantry far from my 
heart, “I am converted to the good principles: gold and gayety 
for ever! That ’s my new motto.” 

“Ah! parbleu!” cried Jouveau; “I should never have 
looked for such a conversion. Cousin, a presentiment tells me, 
that neither of us will have to repent of the chance which re- 
unites us in so unforeseen a way ; that we shall do a good busi- 
ness together, you may from this moment make unlimited use 
of my credit.” 

“Faith, my dear cousin,” I replied with an air of indifference, 


240 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“I accept your offer with so much the more pleasure that it 
could not have happened more apropos. I have just a favor 
to ask of you.” 

“Well, lose no time! What is it, cousin?” 

“First, to take away these horses which they have refused 
you.” 

“Refused me[ You are dreaming.” ' 

“ It is, however, as I- have the honor to tell you. An officer 
of gendarmery has taken the horses to effect the transport of 
several prisoners whom he is escorting, and he will not yield 
them to you.” 

“Ah!” said Jouveau, biting his lips, “but this officer may 
probably deceive himself. Cousin, do me the pleasure to carry 
him these two lines. If that is not sufficient, I shall have 
recourse to another method.” 

“And the favor I have to ask of you ? ” said I, taking the 
paper that Jouveau had written. 

“We will talk about that presently. The business of the 
moment is, that I must have the horses. Make haste. If the 
officer is gone you must run after him.” 

I again bestrode the jade which had already served me, and 
darted toward the house of detention. The lieutenant of gemj- 
armery, after having cast his eyes over the note, could not 
conceal his ill humor, but immediately taking his resolution : — 

“ We shall not start to-day,” said he, turning to the gend- 
armes; “take the accused back to the prison.” 

I stole away quietly in search of Maurice. 

“Maurice!” I exclaimed, on meeting him, “moments are 
precious; ask no questions, I beg of you, but answer me at 
once : is your uncle rich ? ” 

“Yes,” replied he. 

“Can he raise the sum of a hundred louisd’or?” 

“ Yes.” 

" Good ; not a word more. Farewell, till I see you again ; 


I PLEAD FOR THE EX-JUDGE. 


241 


go, and wait for me at the hotel.” Saying this I remounted - 
my horse. 

“Well,” cried Jouveau, as soon as he perceived me, “does 
the gendarme still hold out ? ” 

“No, cousin; scarcely had he looked at your note, than he 
gave the order to unharness.” 

“Then I can continue my journey ? ” 

“ There *s nothing to prevent it, cousin, unless it be that I 
am dying of hunger. If you can stop at Sauve an hour, you 
will find me a guest worthy of your company.” 

“Agreed, — I wish for nothing better; let us make the best 
of our time.” 

What I had foreseen, took place. When Jouveau had 
emptied a couple of bottles of wine, he was in excellent temper. 

“Apropos, cousin,” said he, “what is this favor you have to 
ask of me ? ” 

“Oh, it’s no great matter,” replied I, “you shall have it in 
two words: my purse is empty, and I wish to fill up the void.” 

“Ah! indeed!” cried Jouveau, “of course, then, you have 
a device for filling it; and it is a matter of business that you 
are going to propose.” 

Yes, cousin, it is just a matter of business.” 

“ For which you want my influence ? ” 

“ That ’s it ! Of course your share of the profit will ever be 
much greater than mine.” 

“Well, cousin, let us hear the particulars: I am all at- 
tention.” 

♦‘Hear them, then, in a few words. Yesterday the revolu- 
tionary committee of the district had given an order for the 
apprehension of the body of a certain ex-criminal judge of the 
name of N 

“The deuce!” cried Curtius, interrupting me, “An ex- 
criminal judge cannot be otherwise than guilty, for the mob 
love to see this kind of people executed. Truly I fear that 


242 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


you have handled this business with a deplorable good nature, 
or that you have let them see the bottom of your empty purse.” 

“Cousin, you do me an injustice,” cried I. “I protect my 

own interest, and nothing else. The ex-criminal judge N 

is an original, who prefers mounting the guillotine to entering 
into a compromise. It is, therefore, with his nephew that I 
have to treat.” 

“Ah ! we can ’t do better.” 

“This nephew has promised, if I will obtain the liberation 
of his uncle, to pay me a visit at the inn where I am staying, 
and to forget, on leaving, a hundred louis left upon the mantle- 
piece of my room.” 

“In gold, and not in assignats?” 

“Jouveau,” cried I, in a tone of reproach, “you must have 
a very bad opinion of me, to load me thus with insults. I 
have stipulated for louis d’ors, and have ever taken care to ob- 
serve, that, not being a stock-jobber, I would not accept these 
louis except at a discount” 

“Well, hear my resolution, which I shall not rescind. A 
hundred louis is not enough. If the nephew would bring the 
sum to a hundred and fifty louis, and you be contented with 
twenty-five, then I do n’t say — ” 

“I am much afraid they will refuse me,” answered I, pre- 
tending to be in a bad humor; “however, I ’ll go and see.” 

Saying this, I rose from the table, but just as I was leaving 
the room, Jouveau called me back. 

“An excellent idea has just struck me, cousin,” said he. “To 
urge on the nephew, will you let me arrest him? I have 
several blank warrants about me.” 

“Arrest Maurice!” cried I, scarcely restraining my indig- 
nation. 

“Nay!” replied Jouveau; “it is a piece of civility, that I 
wish to pay to you. You understand that, if I receive my hun- 
dred and twenty-five louis, I have nothing more to ask for,” 


RELEASE OF THE EX-JUDGE. 


243 


“ The thing is, you see, cousin, this young man is as head- 
strong as his uncle; once arrested, he would pay nothing. 
Leave me to manage this affair in my own way.” 

Maurice, whom I found at the inn waiting for me, could not 
withhold an exclamation of joy on learning the bargain I had 
made. The money was not long in forthcoming, and in less than 
half an hour I presented him with the order for his uncle’s 
deliverance. 

Maurice took the order with an eagerness that the reader 
may easily conceive, and went away with it at a running 
pace. 

“ Farewell, cousin,” said Jouveau; “ 1 must get on my route. 
Do not forget that you have a friend in me, and that you will 
always find me ready to oblige you. I shall return to Mar- 
seilles in four days. Come and rejoin me as soon as you can ; 
I will guarantee you good luck.” 

As soon as Jouveau had disappeared, I ran off to the 
prison, and the first person I met was the ex-judge, who was 
leaving it. 

“Here’s your liberator, uncle,” said Maurice. 

Mons. N , with an eagerness I scarcely believed him 

capable of, threw himself upon my neck and embraced me 
several times. 

“ Ah ! sir,” said he, “ you cannot imagine what I have suffered 
since yesterday. Believing my misfortune inevitable, I would 
not display a useless sorrow, which would have darkened the 
bloody recollection which my death bequeathed to those I love. 
But I suffered from the thought of abandoning my family. 
Ah ! I suffered beyond expression.” 

The excellent N then left me to go to his wife, who 

had arrived at Sauve, and having been informed of her 
husband’s release, was momentarily expecting him. 

A few hours after leaving Sauve, having passed through a 
stony, dry, and arid country, I arrived at the delicious valley 


244 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


of St. Hyppolite. An extensive meadow, and a forest of fruit 
trees which I crossed, led me to the city. 

The distribution of bread was taking place when I entered 
the inn. A long file oi persons, of both sexes and all ages, who, 
pale and attenuated by privations and fatigue, waited with a 
sorrowful resignation for the meagre pittance that was to save 
them from starvation. Young coxcombs, old gentlemen, fruit' 
merchants, tanners, marquises, blacksmiths, &c., pressed and 
elbowed each other pell-mell, to be ready at the calling of their 
names. Armed with a large knife, and wearing a leather apron, 
the municipal officer superintended the weighing and division of 
the pieces of bread. Having carefully packed eight ounces in my 
sack, and had my passport viseed, I again proceeded on my 
road, and soon arrived at Ganges, where I found that all the 
shops were shut, and a dead silence reigned throughout the 
city. I entered a hair dresser’s to get shaved. It was the 
“ decade” day, and the barber’s shop was full of customers of 
all descriptions. A dozen persons seated on a bench against 
the wall, waited their turns, whilst the hair-dresser, holding 
one of his customers by the nose, his head thrown back and 
his face covered with soap suds, flourished his razor in the air, 
and commented on the events of the decade. 

“ Ah ! ” said he, “ I will not speak ill of the. guillotine, but 
still I see much in that invention that requires alteration. 
We barbers would do more execution in an hour, than the 
guillotine will do in a day. Suppose, for instance, the citizen 
I am about to shave at this moment, was an aristocrat and a 
federalist, — pshaw! A slight touch of the razor, and there’s 
one dangerous rogue less.” So saying, the barber, to give 
point to his demonstration, rapidly struck the back of his razor 
across the throat of his customer, who, feeling the cold steel, 
uttered a terrible scream, and fell from his chair to the ground. 
Bursts of laughter succeeded this joke. The customer being 
served, an old man, completely bald, took his place. 


THE MOUNTAINS OF THE CEVENNES. 


245 


11 Can you, citizen,” said he to the hair-dresser, “ put a little 
powder on my head to replace the wig, which my republican 
principles prevent me from wearing ? ” 

“ Powder ! ” repeated the barber, “ it is impossible. For six 
months past, not an ounce of powder has entered my shop.” 

“ Well then, citizen,” resumed the old man, “ put a little 
flour on, instead of the powder.” 

“ Flour ! Do you fancy that I am going to lavish the food 
of the people in order to gratify your ridiculous foppishness ? ” 
“ But, citizen, the air, striking upon my bald head ” — 

“ Hold your tongue, conspirator! Bring me some mill-dust, 
and then I will powder you to your satisfaction.” 

Not relishing this fellow’s treatment, I left the shop without 
saying a word, and proceeded on my way. On leaving the 
charming little town of la Yigeva, I came to a fertile country, 
covered with a rich vegetation. Disgusted with the centre of 
population, which presented only the melancholy spectacle of 
evil human passions, I determined to avoid the town as much 
as possible, and, in fact, on leaving Morneys, I plunged at once 
into the Cevennes. 

I cannot describe the exciting impression of happiness I felt, 
when, roving free amidst the solitudes of these mountains, and 
thinking that whilst around me reigned treason, violence, and 
espionage, tranquil and careless, I surveyed the beauties of 
nature. That contempt of human ambition, fury and violence, 
which the sight of nature produced in me, explained how and 
why it was that the mountaineers of the Cevennes had opposed 
to this day, with unshaken obstinacy, the principles of the revo- 
lution. Still, they had perceived, that to oppose by force the 
march of the new ideas, would have drawn upon their country 
persecution and ruin. Therefore they received the delegates 
with all the appearance of delight, entertained them well, and 
at last sent them away perfectly satisfied with their patriotism. 
The reader will be unjust, however, if he attributes to them 


246 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


falseness of character; they displayed only their acuteness, or 
rather, perhaps, a sovereign contempt for these agents. 

Although my uniform of a republican soldier might have 
induced them to mistrust me, wherever I went I was received 
with a sincere and frank hospitality. 

I set out one morning early, in order to arrive before night- 
fall at Mende, where I intended to sleep. About noon, I 
found that I had missed my way. Exhausted by fatigue and 
hunger, I flung myself at the foot of a huge rock, which 
screened me from the sun’s rays. I drew from a napkin a 
piece of bread weighing about five ounces, which, with a few 
figs, constituted all my provisions, and then sat down to 
dinner by the side of a limpid spring. I began to attack my 
bread and figs, when I heard a slight noise in the briars and 
ferns which surrounded me; and almost immediately I saw, 
coming from the thicket, a very young man, elegantly dressed, 
and who, on perceiving me, could not repress an exclamation of 
surprise. 

Remarking the hesitation of the youth : — “ Citizen,” said I, 
“ I am an officer of the regiment of la Cote d’Or. If you 
wish to partake of my repast, sit down at my side ; there are 
still four figs and nearly two ounces of bread ; if you delay for 
five minutes, there will be nothing at all.” 

Encouraged by my freedom, the youth began to smile. 
“ I will not deny, citizen,” he replied, “ that you frightened 
me. May I ask what route you are following?” 

“ I intend to sleep to-night at Mende.” 

“ You cannot think of that. Do you know what distance 
you are from that town ? ” 

“ Faith, no! Two or three leagues, I suppose.” 

“You are far from the mark. Seven leagues.” 

“ Is it possible ? Then I must have gone backwards since 
the morning, instead of advancing.” 

“That’s very probable; you have got out of the way. You 


A FORTUNATE ENCOUNTER. 


247 


ought, in fact, officer, to thank the accident which has brought 
us together, and to follow me.” 

“Follow you! Faith, with great pleasure; only allow me 
to ask you where you are going to take me to ? ” 

“ I regret not being able to answer that question. All that 
I am permitted to tell you is, that you will meet with a hearty 
reception, will run no danger, and that they will charge you 
nothing for your entertainment. But, I must beg you, 
supposing you accept my offer, to ask no more questions on the 
subject.” 

I accepted the young man’s invitation, and we proceeded on 
our way. After a walk of more than four hours, we arrived at 
a wood of fir trees, which, placed upon the plateau of a moun- 
tain, covered a large extent of ground. We entered the wood, 
and following a foot-path, the firm and beaten soil of which 
showed that it must have been often trodden by passengers, 
I perceived at about a hundred paces before us, a fixed and 
brilliant light, and almost at the same instant I found myself 
in the midst of a vast glade of the wood, where stood a large 
edifice. 

“ Where are we now ? and what is this chateau ? ” asked I. 

“ We are arrived,” he replied, “ at the end of our journey. 
As to this chateau, history pretends, that it was built by the 
Counts de Gevandau; and tradition, by the devil: choose 
which of these versions suits you best.” 

My companion now pulled an iron chain which hung along- 
side the grating. The sound of a bell vibrated in the air. 

A huge knave of a sans-culotte, as far as I could judge 
from his costume, came forward with a dark lantern in his 
hand. 

“ What can I do to serve you, citizens?” he inquired in a 
stentorian voice. 

“ Tell citizen Rose, that two travelers ask her hospitality for 
this night” 


11 


248 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ I have no need to trouble citizen Rose,” replied the sans- 
culotte, roughly. “ Are you patriots ? ” 

“ Enthusiastic patriots!” said my companion; “ultra revolu- 
tionists.” 

“ That’s enough, we will open the gates to you. Vive la 
republiqfie ! ” 

The iron gate receded before us, creaking on its hinges, and 
we entered the court-yard of the chateau. 

“ My friend,” said my companion, again addressing our 
guide ; “ in spite of fraternity and equality, we generally like to 
know who we receive. The citizen, as his uniform indicates, 
is an officer, and belongs to the battalion of the Cote d’Or. 
As for myself, I am nobody, but I am called Abel.” 

“Ah, are you Mons. Abel?” said the sans-culotte, in a 
familiar tone. “ My goodness, sir, how sorry I am that you 
are come so late, for I am afraid those ladies are gone to bed 
and cannot receive you, — will you come for a moment with 
me, whilst I go to learn whether I should introduce you ? ” 

The man led us into an apartment handsomely fitted up, 
on the ground floor, where he begged of us to wait, and then 
went away. 

He soon re-appeared. 

“Mons. Abel,” said he, addressing the young man, who 
seemed much abstracted, “if you will take the trouble to 
follow me, citizen Rose is waiting for you.” Abel disappeared 
with the sans-culotte, who in a few minutes returned. “ Citi- 
zen,” said he, “ if you will do the honor to share with me my 
humble supper, I am about to lay the table.” 

“That’s an honor which the keen air of the mountains that 
I have breathed all day, will render most welcome to me,” I 
replied, examining him with more attention than I had hitherto 
done. 

He was a £tout, robust youtlq with broad, round shoulders, 
athletic limbs, and a very marked physiognomy. However, iu 


MONSIEUR ABEL. 


249 


spite of his formidable moustaches, thick eyebrows, sabre, 
carmagnole, and long, black, rough, and matted hair, his whole 
person indicated contentment and simplicity, rendered still 
more striking by that revolutionary display of which I have 
spoken. 

In a very short time he unfolded a very white table-cloth, 
and placed two covers opposite, and several bottles of wine on 
the table; then going into an. adjoining room, he returned, 
bearing a soup- tureen, from which a delicious odor exhaled. 

“ Shall I offer you some of this soup, citizen ? ” he asked, 
taking off the cover. 

“Offer everything, citizen,” replied I; “you run no risk of 
getting a refusal.” 

I made a most admirable supper, and, my voracious ap- 
petite-appeased, questioned Antoine, as the sans-culotte was 
named, on the subject of citizen Rose; but though he would 
evidently have laid down his life in her defense, he was very 
chary of imparting any information respecting her. 

When the repast was nearly ended, the youth, Abel, re- 
turned, and I besought him to satisfy my curiosity. 

“I! I am almost asleep!” said the young man; “and I 
aim at nothing just now but to go to bed. Finish your supper 
at your ease, and at the same time I will plant myself in that 
great arm-chair and take an instalment of the night.” 

In fact, my companion, after placing himself comfortably in 
a vast fauteuil of carved oak, was very soon asleep. In half 
an hour I rose from the table, and awakening the young man, 
I proposed to him to retire. 

Antoine taking a flambeau with branches, in which were 
several wax candles, walked before to show us the way. 

Stopping at the first floor, he opened a door, and I perceived 
two pretty rooms neatly furnished, and each containing a bed. 

“This is your lodging,” said Antoine; “I hope you will 
have a good night. If you want my services you will only 


250 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


have to pull the bell-rope, and in less than a minute I -will be 
at your side.” 

Alone with Abel, I endeavored to obtain some information 
of him, but whether my companion was really overcome with 
fatigue, or wished to avoid all explanation, he begged me to 
defer our conversation till the next day, and hastened to go 
to bed. 

It was broad day when I awoke, and getting out of bed, I 
called Abel, but received no answer. On lifting the curtain 
of the bed in which he had slept I found that he was gone. 

I went to the window, which commanded a view of a large 
garden, on one side of which was a forest of lofty trees, which 
I concluded fenced a park. There seeing Abel offering his 
arm to a young and very handsome girl, I withdrew hastily, 
and hid myself behind the curtains. Presently I saw a second 
female, who appeared to be watching the young man and his 
companion. This lady, who might be twenty-five years of 
age, appeared to be a person of distinction. She was dressed 
in a costume of a grave color and a formal cut. Her coun- 
tenance exhibited a union of resplendent beauty, with rigid 
severity. Her mouth smiled, whilst her fixed and deep look 
indicated important pre-occupation of mind, and her firm and 
decided step was wholly destitute of that kind of nonchalance 
which sits so well on a woman. The young girl hanging on 
the arm of my friend Abel was what a pretty child at her first 
entrance into life should be — timid, excitable, and modest. 

I left my post of observation, and ran down the stairs to 
proceed to the garden. At the sight of a soldier with large 
moustaches, a face bronzed by the sun, and a uniform torn by 
the brambles, the companion of Abel drew back hastily, and 
uttered a slight exclamation of terror. As to the other lady, 
her look was directed toward me with perfect composure, and 
without indicating the least surprise. 

“Madam,” said I, saluting her respectfully, “have I not the 


THE CITIZEN ROSE. 


251 


honor of addressing her who is called the citizen Rose, and 
whom I must call my benefactress, in gratitude for the 
generous hospitality that she has granted me ? ” 

“You are not mistaken,” replied she, “I am the citizen 
Rose; but you owe me no thanks. The hospitality that you 
have met with here is in no respect exclusive ; it is accorded 
to all. I therefore repeat that you owe me no thanks.” She 
bowed to me, and continued her walk, leaving me lost in my 
conjectures. I walked about the garden till Antoine came to 
me to tell me that breakfast was ready. 

Having fully satisfied my appetite, I asked Abel if he in- 
tended to pass the day at this mysterious chateau, my inten- 
tion being, in that case, at once to resume my route. 

“Nothing detains me here,” replied he, “and we will start 
immediately.” In a few minutes we found ourselves again 
among the mountains, and proceeding toward the town of 
Mende. 

“Well, my dear officer,” said Abel, “I hope I have now 
kept my word, and that nothing of what I promised to you 
last evening has been wanting. And now I will gratify your 
curiosity. Know then, that this mysterious chateau, thus con- 
cealed in the midst of the Cevennes, is a convent of nuns, of 
the order of Saint Benoit, and that citizen Rose is absolutely 
the lady abbess of that community.” 

“ A convent in full power in the year two of the republic ! 
I cannot take such a joke seriously.” 

“ I assure you that I am not joking. Listen a moment, and 
you shall see what a firm and upright character, like that of 
citizen Rose, is able to accomplish* Citizen Rose, whose true 

name is de II , entered this convent of the daughters 

of St. Benoit, about six years ago, in the quality of novice, in 
consequence of a disappointment in a love affair. 

“ Four years after, being named abbess, she consequently 
filled that high office when the revolution commenced. Guessing 


252 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the result, citizen Rose, with the sagacity of a statesman, 
saw that her convent was destroyed if she espoused the cause 
of the noblesse against the citizens. She therefore took the 
heroic resolution of sacrificing her prejudices to the safety of 
her community. Without waiting for the orders of the muni- 
cipality to take down the weathercocks from the roof, the 
wolves’ heads and tusks from the doorways, demolish the bat- 
tlements, &c., &c., she proceeded at once, herself, to grant 
these puerile concessions to the new ideas which now overran 
the country, and at once acquired the character of a good 
citizen. Then came the order for the suppression of convents. 
Not at all alarmed, she immediately bought up assignats at a 
minimum price, and thus obtained a large nominal property. 
Then came the day of sale of the conventional estate: she 
became the highest bidder, under the name of a poor goat- 
herd, in whom she had the fullest confidence; so that she 
again entered into legal possession of the fields, woods, and 
chateau.” 

“Did no one come forward to dispute this fine property 
with her?” 

“No one. They say that the district authorities had re- 
ceived large sums of money to prevent competition. Now, as 
I know citizen Rose to be very prudent, I am inclined to 
believe in the truth of these assertions. As to the peasantry, 
they are too much attached to the excellent abbess, their pro- 
vidence in misfortune, to think for an instant of appropriating 
this property to themselves. On the contrary, they would 
have destroyed, without compunction, every one who had 
opposed the designs of thfr- abbess. When once legally in- 
stalled in her convent, she exchanged the monastic costume of 
the sisters for clothing of serge.* She suppressed the bells, 
which announced the different religious exercises, and adopted 
noisy rattles instead. 

“ Lastly, in order to account for the assembling of so great 


THE CONVENT. 


253 


a number of women, she established a boarding-school for 
young ladies.” 

“ I doubt/’ said I, interrupting my young companion, 
“ whether this boarding-school obtained many pupils.” 

“ You are mistaken. The generality of the revolutionists, 
enriched, or on the point of making fortunes, were anxious to 
place their daughters with citizen Rose, in order to complete 
their education, and give them good habits.” 

“ In fact,” said I, “ I am not at all surprised at that. In re- 
volutions, the rising plunderers, when once they have amassed 
riches, finish by reflecting that they are destined to form part 
of a new aristocracy. They, therefore, are anxiously desirous 
that their descendants and heirs should possess that education 
which they denounced and treated as useless, when it was ex- 
clusively the privilege of the children of the wealthy whom 
they had plundered.” 

“That’s just what happened to the citizen Rose. Most of 
her pupils are the daughters of the authorities of the district, 
or the superior functionaries of the department. This will 
explain how it is that they let her remain quiet. For myself, 
I have been sent by my uncle to see his daughter, who lives 
at the school, and whom they wish me to marry.” 

“I thank you heartily for your account. This history of a 
convent flourishing under the year two of the republic, appears 
to me an unique circumstance.” 

On arriving at Mende, nearly at nightfall, I left my com- 
panion to go to the inn. It seemed to me that the young man 
followed me some distance, and I presumed that I might 
shortly receive a visit from him. 

The next morning, I was fast asleep, when the hotel-keeper 
opened the door of the room, awoke me suddenly, and .beckon- 
ing to a stout well dressed man, whom the darkness — for it 
was scarcely day — had prevented me from perceiving before. 
“Here,” said he to the stranger, “is the person in question.” 


254 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. ' 


The gentleman advanced quickly toward my bed, looked at 
me a moment attentively, and then in an imperious voice: “I 
am one of the district administrators,” said he, “show me 
your papers; you appear to me a suspected person.” 

“ Citizen administrator,” replied I, coolly, “ be so good as to 
give me my knapsack. Thank you ; here ’s my passport : read 
it, and allow me to go to sleep again.” 

“ These papers appear regular enough,” said the gentleman, 
addressing the inn-keeper. “You may withdraw, my friend, 
and if I want you I will call for you.” 

“ Citizen officer,” continued he, when we were alone, “your 
passport is of very old date. I am, therefore, resolved to 
learn who you are, what is your family, and what are your 
means of existence.” 

“Before replying to your questions,” replied I, looking 
steadily at him, “I beg to know first, if you are not the 
father of a charming young lady, and the uncle of a thought- 
less young man, whom I have recently seen ? ” 

“Come, I see that you are a sensible man,” cried the ad- 
ministrator, whose air of gravity disappeared, and gave place 
to a frank laugh. “The fact is, my nephew, in confessing his 
imprudence of yesterday, caused me some alarm. I see now 
that the young man has more good fortune than he deserved, 
and I no longer insist on knowing who you are.” 

“I do not intend to be surpassed in generosity,” replied I, 
also laughing; “and as my passport does not inspire you with 
confidence, so much the worse for you, for I must bore you 
with the recital of my genealogy.” 

I then explained to him in a few words how I had been the 
victim of the requisition, and then made him acquainted with 
the position of my family. 

“Well!” exclaimed he, with surprise, in the middle of my 
recital, “this truly is a singular accident! Do you know, citi- 
zen, that I have been intimately connected with your father?” 


i^rotttrette. 


255 


^Yoti! Is it possible?” 

ignite ?o. Do you remember a journey your father once 
•' - . • years igo. ta ■ a: • an im- 

i porrant lawsuit £ ? * 

'* Yuen ne gained. That circumstance had too great an 
ntfuenee m he iestmy of our tamiiy for anv of us ever to 
itf* 


•*’ WeiL I was your father’s advocate.’ 7 
^Thea you are tfons. ie la Rouvrette.” 

^ Yhe same, young man. Only I beg of you to call me 
sunnir, Earouvretse.” 

** I wul hear it m mind, dozen.*’ 


After an interesting conversation the administrator retired, 
ana eft me to repose, but not without having made me 
prormse. hat as soon as I rose. T should repair to his house, 
where he was going to prepare an apartment tor me. 

It was not without slightly blushing that his nephew, Abel, 
met me igrun. The day having passed. I wished to tafco my 
ease f arisen Larouvrette. my intention being to set out on 
my o nmey nest morning, but he strenuousiv opposed mv 


resolution. 


-You shall pass the whole week here,” said he; ‘‘and if it 
is neecssarr :o empiov force to detain von I will do so.” 

II was useless protesting and lrguing, citizen Larouvrette 
wouia not consent to set me at liberrv. All that I could ob- 
tain r ns 'Dsnnacy was ihat he would not keep me bevond 
four lavs. 

* riuce oil are fond of traveling," said he, “ this delay will 
inimrnpiv sun your tastes ; I must go to see my eldest brother, 
who Ives in he ’ievaudan. about a dozen leagues from hence. 
Will -on iccomnamr me ? You will pass through a curious 
countrr. ” E accepted his proposal: and the day dxed for our 
iemrrure navmg armed, citizen Larouvrette and I set off on 
our o ranee urer breakfast, and mv companions informed me 


256 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


that the brother whom he was going to see was an ultra 
royalist. 

“Only look at the obstinacy of my brother,” said he: “he 
opposes the marriage of his son with my daughter, under the 
pretext that my republican sentiments are too violent. Now 
you must know that my brother’s whole fortune amounts to 
only a couple of thousand crowns of income at the utmost, 
whilst mine equals, at least, three times that sum. I, therefore, 
represent wealth against poverty, and truly, if I did not love 
my daughter and Abel as well as I do, I would never think of 
setting my foot in my eldest brother’s house.” 

The Gevaudan is a very arid and barren country, and the I 
deepest misery and poverty everywhere prevailed. In a cabin, I 
whose cracked walls and torn thatch denoted the wretched- 
ness of the owner, we found one of those .fine old men we j 
sometimes meet with in the country, an admirable type of 
practical philosophy, who represent the stoical resignation of 
the laborer broken down by fatigue, and waiting for death 
without fear. On seeing us enter, the old man saluted us with 
a slight inclination of the head, and as soon as we had made 
him acquainted with our wishes, he placed before us two 
broken cups, the only earthen ware his cabin contained, and 
raising with difficulty a wooden bowl, standing in a corner, he 
filled the cups with milk. 

“Father,” said I, respectfully, “the dilapidation of your 
cottage tells me that the requisition and spoliation have ex- 
tended their ravages even to you. The revolutionary troops 
must have passed here.” 

“Alas!” replied th.e old man, “they have robbed us of our 
children, and forbidden us to worship God : that is to say, they j 
have deprived us of the arms that procured us a. living, and of 
the religion which enabled us to suffer.” 

To the questions I put to him, the old man replied with 
frankness and simplicity. I was glad, on going out, to see 


LAROUVRETTE. 


257 


that citizen Larouvrette left a crown by the side of his empty 
cup. It was almost night when we arrived at the end of our 
journey. The dwelling of the elder Larouvrette was a mix- 
ture of the country house and the farm, combining the useful 
with the ornamental. 

Mons. Larouvrette might be from fifty to fifty-five years of 
age. His expressive physiognomy indicated an extraordinary 
energy of mind. Of the middle hight, and well made, he 
must have been endowed with remarkable muscular power. 
It was easy to see by his simple and easy language, and his 
natural and quiet manners, that you had to do with a man to 
whom the usages of good society were familiar. 

He received his brother without any 'exaggerated demon- 
strations of friendship, but with a cordiality which assured me 
that he was not so fanatical a royalist as he pretended. The 
sight of my uniform occasioned him an involuntary movement 
of bad humor; but he received me with extreme politeness, 
mixed with a coolness and reserve, which, without being offen- 
sive, from the first moment raised a barrier to our intimacy. 

The next morning, being summoned by the breakfast bell, I 
entered the parlor, when Mons. de la Rouvrette came briskly 
to meet me, and taking me by the hand : “ I beg your pardon, 
my dear sir,” said he, in a friendly tone, “ for the coolness I 
showed you yesterday, but I had not the honor of knowing 
you, and you are aware that at the present time it is neces- 
sary to be cautious. My brother, on informing me who you are, 
and the excellent lesson of prudence which you have been so 
good as to give to my hair-brained son, makes me regret hav- 
ing lost a good evening of conversation. I hope that you will 
still stay with me some days.” 

The next day citizen Larouvrette set out for Mende. Not 
being able to resist the cordial advances of his brother, I 
determined to remain some days with him. 

Never in my life do I recollect meeting with a man so 


258 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


polite and complaisant as my host. He served me as a guide, 
and accompanied me to the mountain. One day we were 
passing near a farm, when I remarked upon the front of the 
rustic building many traces of shot. 

“Has there been a battle here?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he replied; “and that battle was near changing the 
whole destiny of France.” 

These words astonished me greatly, and I begged him to 
explain himself more clearly. He at once proceeded to satisfy 
■ my curiosity. 

“There are events,” said he, “which are not noticed in 
their passage, which, nevertheless, have scarcely failed to 
change the face of the world. The most invincible conqueror 
stumbles and falls, like the lowest of his soldiers, on meeting a 
stone in his path. A grain of sand or gravel, which chance 
throws into a powerful machine, suffices to stop the wheels 
and neutralize the power. History, in relating great events, 
often takes no account of the futile and leading causes which 
have produced them. We mountaineers are not of an aggres- 
sive disposition, but we possess a remarkable obstinacy in re- 
sistance. Our ungrateful and arid soil, in condemning- us to 
almost inevitable privations, has instilled into our hearts the 
love of order and religion. If at any time government touches 
our property or our faith, it commits an irreparable fault, for 
which we have no pardon. Our peasants, who saw without 
alarm, perhaps even with a degree of sympathy, the coming 
revolution, soon changed their sentiments, when they felt the 
weight of certain monstrous decrees of the convention. The 
violence exercised against the clergy, the requisition, the 
patriotic but forced taxes, soon cured them of their weak en- 
thusiasm, and made them dream of means to relieve them- 
selves from so odious a tyranny. 

“A people which suffers and reflects, is soon ready to ap- 
peal to physical force, the chances of arms, and violence. At 


CHARRIER. 


259 


least this was what I persuaded myself; and, faithful to my 
lawful princes, I resolved to seek them, and ask if they 
thought it would serve their cause — which I considered that of 
France — to give a direction to this discontent. 

“Having with great difficulty procured a passport, I was 
about to go to the frontier, when one morning I received a 
visit, which,' certainly, I was far from expecting, and which 
reduced my projects to nothing. A Mons. Charrier was an- 
nounced, whom I immediately ordered to be introduced. 

“He informed me that he had been created field-marshal 
and commander-in-chief by Mons. the Regent of France, and 
that he was about to head a rising of the peasantry in favor of 
the royalists. As I discovered that he had formerly been a 
grenadier in the regiment which I commanded, and that he 
was practically unacquainted with military tactics, I refused 
the brevet of colonel which he offered me, and declined to 
serve under him. . Still I gave him good advice, which he re- 
jected with scorn. At my expostulations he grew insolent, 
and I was compelled to request him to leave the house. I 
will give you the history of his exploits, if you wish it.” 

“Certainly,” said I, “it interests me greatly, and I beg of 
you to proceed.” 

“ As soon as I had shut the door upon Charrier, who, be it 
said, in passing, was rather a conceited puppy, blinded by a 
foolish ambition, than a rogue, I hastened to forewarn all the 
royalists of my acquaintance that they should not engage in 
the wretched and impossible scheme in which it would be 
attempted to enlist them. Thank heaven, the generality of 
them listened to my advice. 

“Very few days had passed from the visit of Charrier, 
when I learned all at once that he was coming at the head of 
a corps, composed of five or six thousand men, to carry Mende, 
and was marching upon our town of Marvejols. The patriots 
took to flight; the old bourgeoise reappeared, and assembled 


260 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


at the Hotel-de-ville. The deliberation was long, and it is 
probable that it would have ended in nothing, when one of the 
scouts sent out, returned to announce that Charrier, with his 
army, was not more than a league from the town. 

“ Immediately, one of the bourgeoise snatched up a brazen 
dish, threw into it five or six large rusty old keys, and proposed 
going to meet Charrier, and surrender the town, on the con- 
dition that the lives and property of the Marvejols should be 
respected. They were again about to deliberate on this, when 
the sound of the trumpets of Mons. the field-marshal and 
commandant, was heard. The bourgeoise and notables took 
to their heels at once. 

“ Never, my dear sir, shall I forget the burlesque tableau 
which the entry of the royalist army into Marvejols presented. 

“At the head marched first Charrier, mounted on an enor- 
mous cart horse, with the carcase of an elephant and the gait 
of a rhinoceros. The costume of the governor presented the 
most ludicrous assemblage imaginable, of tinsel, feathers, and 
broidery mixed; no quack doctor has ever exceeded him. 
Immediately after Charrier, came his artillery. Goodness! 
What cannon ! they were made of wood bound with iron, and 
drawn by the peasantry, resembling the primitive engines 
which followed the first discovery of gunpowder. As to the 
royalist army, comprising fifteen to eighteen hundred peasants, 
who advanced, marching on their toes, in affectation of marking 
the time, neither pen nor pencil can adequately depict the 
fabulous collection. Armed with muskets unfit for use, 
sticks, stones, even cooking utensils, they resembled a troop 
of masks on Shrove Tuesday, or a company of traveling 
comedians. 

“Roosted upon his horse-elephant, Charrier listened graciously 
to the deputation of bourgeoise who brought him the keys of 
the city. He even condescended to harangue them in a com- 
plete discourse, which he closed by declaring that he and his 


CHARRIER. 


261 


invincible army were ready to shed the last drop of their blood 
for the defence of their religion and their sovereio'n. 

O O 

“ During the first days of the occupation of Marvejols by the 
royalist troops, all went on well. From morning until night, 
C harrier received delegations and deputations, which afforded 
him opportunity for the display of his eloquence ; whilst his 
peasants ate, drank, and sung to their heart’s content. Every- 
body was satisfied. The greater part of the neighboring 
mountaineers, who really believed that France reckoned only 
two cities, Mende and Marvejols, seeing the counter-revolution 
complete and perfect, eagerly ranged themselves under the flag 
of Charrier, in order to share in the rewards which Louis XVII, 
or the Regent, would not fail to bestow on them. 

“Alas! these sweet illusions were of short duration. One 
morning, the scouts of Charrier ran in great haste to announce 
the arrival of the patriot army at Avignon. The ex-grenadier 
caused the generate to be beaten, and having left the care 
of the city to fifty poor devils, commanded by an old barber, 
who took the title of governor, but who was more commonly 
called major, he himself opened the campaign and marched 
against the enemy. 

“ The patriots of Avignon were personally brave, and 
furnished with real artillery, well served, and would have 
proved formidable adversaries, if they had been headed by a 
good general. This was just what was wanting with them. 
It was between that old chateau you see on the left, and which 
was formerly used as a summer residence of the bishops of 
Mende, and that farm upon which you observed traces of balls, 
that the two armies met. The patriots began by a general 
discharge of their artillery, to which the royalists replied by a 
fire of musketry, and then immediately after this fine exploit, 
the two armies ran different ways, as fast as their legs could 
carry them. I must do Charrier the justice, — for I had mixed 
with his men as a volunteer, and was present at the whole 


262 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


affair, — to state that lie was the only one of his party who 
displayed, if not presence of mind, at least courage. Abusing, 
striking, and rallying the fugitives, he managed to collect a 
hundred of his combatants, and ran in pursuit of the patriots. 
A slight skirmish ensued, in which the royalists were completely 
victorious. 

“ I will not attempt to describe the joy of the conquerors 
when they re-entered the city. Marvejols was illuminated and 
the whole night was spent in perambulating the streets, 
shouting in the patois, ‘ Bibe le re ! ’ or, 4 Long live the king ! * 
In the meantime, those distant districts which had saved 
themselves without fighting, sounded the alarm on their 
passage, and magnified the victory of the royalist army, which 
they also increased to ten thousand men. 

“ The government, therefore, hastened to send large bodies 
of troops against the insurgents, who, however, had dispersed 
of themselves after the battle, and abandoned their chief. 
Charrier, who had taken refuge in one of his farms, which we 
shall pass in a few hours, upon the arrival of the detachment 
sent against him, threw himself into a trench made to preserve 
potatoes, and which, for greater security, was covered with a 
large slab of stone. The detachment, after having ransacked 
the farm-house from top to bottom, and discovering nothing, 
was about to withdraw, when Charrier, suffocated for want of 
air, and the exhalation of the fermenting potatoes, could not 
suppress his groans. They soon snatched him from his hiding- 
place, and dragged him to Rhodez, when on the day after his 
arrival, he was beheaded in the midst of a vast concourse of 
people. I must acknowledge, that in spite of the consummate 
incapacity he had evinced, he died with true courage. Mende 
and Marvejols were retaken without any fighting. The peasants 
who hoped that their humble station would protect them from 
the consequences of their peurile rebellion, met with a sad fate. 
During the two following days, the republican troops tracked 


END OF THE REBELLION. 


263 


them from house to house, on the plains, in the streets, every- 
where, and massacred without pity more than fifteen hundred 
of them. Thus ended this deplorable enterprise, which, if it 
had been matured and combined with care, and directed by a 
skillful man, might have given an immense development to the 
Vendeean war, and broken down the convention.’’’ 

It was scarcely one o’clock, when Mons. de la Rouvrette 
proposed returning to Marvejols. 

“ It is not then your intention to continue our walk to the 
end of the day ? I think you promised to show me the house 
and farm where the unfortunate Charrier had hidden himself 
and was arrested.” 

“ In fact,” said he, “ I hoped to be able to keep you com- 
pany a longer time; but I have reflected, that as I have to 
start early to-morrow morning, I have need of taking some rest 
to-day.” 

“ Are you setting out for a long journey ? ” 

“ Not at all ; merely a simple excursion, but wearisome from 
the obstacles which it presents, and only accessible on foot. It 
is attended with some danger, and requires all my strength. 
But now I think of it, will you accompany me?” 

“ I am wholly at your command, and will blindly follow you 
where you may think proper to take me.” 

“ I thank you for your confidence. You shall not find it 
misplaced. I can promise that you shall witness a novel phase 
in the social aspect of our time.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


The fountain Solitudes — A Houseless Republic — Everything Al-Fresco — The 
Wounded Count — Brother Peter and the Spy — Confession of the Assassin — The 
Count’s Story — Laura and the Ex-cartwright — I leave the Encampment — Saint 
Flour — Durand and his Wife — Poison — Martial Tenderness — The Count’s fearful 
Revenge — I am arrested and marched off to Prison — An Awkward Rencounter — 
A Mean Vengeance — Locked up in my Cell. 

On our return to Marvejols, we supped early and soon re- 
tired for the night. The next morning we got on our route 
before sunrise. I found the mountains I traversed after my 
entrance on the Cevennes, grand, majestic, and picturesque in 
the extreme. On descending again into the plain, we saw 
immense flocks, under the care of shepherds. • 

It might be near three o’clock, when my companion and I 
reached the edge of a vast and dense forest, which we had for 
some time perceived in the distance. 

“We are now nearly arrived/’ said Rouvrette; “ a few more 
minutes, and I shall clasp my good brother in my arms.” _ 
Beyond the first limit of the Sorest, we had to climb a hill 
exceedingly steep, and covered with high broom. I had stopped 
a moment to gather a plant, when an exclamation uttered near 
caused me to raise my head, when I saw Mons. de la Rouvrette 
embracing a sturdy peasant, who had emerged from the 
thicket. 

On perceiving me, the countryman could not withhold a 
movement of surprise ; and he put his hand hastily under his 
vest, where I perceived the bright barrels of a pair of pistols. 


A HOUSELESS REPUBLIC. 


265 


“ Make yourself easy, prior,” said my host, laughing I “ this gen- 
tleman is a friend, and you may place entire confidence in him.” 

The prior then politely saluted me, and excused his suspi- 
cions. “ Too well justified,” he added, “ by the persecutions 
he had endured.” He then asked if I had any political news 
worthy of notice to communicate. 

Before I could reply, a young peasant, dressed in a ragged 
jacket, and carrying a double barrelled fowling-piece on his 
shoulder, suddenly presented himself. Mons. de la Rouvrette 
embraced him affectionately, calling him Mons. de la Chevalier. 
At last, on arriving upon the summit of the hill, we found a 
middle aged man dressed in a cloak, and also armed with a 
fusil, whom my companion saluted respectfully, saying “ Mon- 
seigneur, I am exceedingly happy to find you well again.” This 
man with the cloak was nothing less than a bishop. 

The prior, the chevalier, and the bishop, after having agreed 
to meet us again, as soon as they had fulfilled their duty, left 
us, and we pursued our way alone. We arrived in a few 
minutes at the limits of a vast platform, where a spectacle I 
shall never forget presented itself to our view. A dozen men, 
kneeling, were listening to a priest, who, clothed with his cape, 
recited the breviary : near them their firearms were piled. 

I must do this pious auditory the justice to state, that not 
one of those who composed it, disturbed themselves on our 
appearance. The voice of the priest continued to resour.d calm 
and sonorous. 

The service being over, Mons. de la Rouvrette immediately 
presented me to these outlaws, as one of the victims of the re- 
quisition, and I was at once as much the object of their pity 
as if their lot had not been worse than mine. 

“Console yourself, young man,” said one of the canons. 
“The monstrous excesses which desolate our times, cannot last 
much longer. In a short period, France will re-establish the 
ancient order of things.” 


266 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“I ardently desire the fall of the cowardly and sanguinary 
Robespierre, and all his abominable accomplices,” replied I to 
the canon. “But I am a republican, and in no respect wish 
for a return of the angient regime. I believe in the possibility 
of founding a good republic.” 

“My friends,” cried Mons. de la Rouvrette, who now inter- 
posed, “you see that in presenting this gentleman to you as a 
man of principle, I have not deceived you; his frankness proves 
his integrity. I am acquainted wdth his family, which is most 
estimable:. I therefore entreat you to place every confidence 
in his honor and discretion, and I will answer for him with my 
head.” 

“His being in your company, my dear Rouvrette, is suffi- 
cient to give us entire confidence in him,” replied one of the 
canons. “No one is better qualified to judge, in a question of 
honor, than yourself.” 

Several of the outlawed priests now employed themselves 
in preparing the common supper. Dry leaves were heaped up 
under sticks, placed against a large flat stone, and soon the 
flame rose high in the air. From a thicket of black thorns, a 
little old man brought out a large quarter of veal, ran a spit 
through it, and addressing his companions in misfortune, asked : 
“ Which of you, gentlemen, will take the duty to-day ? ” 

“It is the reverend provincial father,” answered several voices. 

At the same instant, a fine old man of threescore and ten 
arrived, and having made an excuse for being so late, began 
immediately to turn the spit. 

The joint was beginning to exhibit its gilded tints, and ex- 
haled a very appetizing odor, when a young brother brought a 
fine hare which he had just killed with his fowling-piece. This 
wind-fall produced a general exclamation of joy. “ I vote 
thanks to the citizen,” said one of the canons, parodying the 
style of the period; “it is the second Jacobin he has brought 
us within four days.” 


THE WOUNDED COUNT. 


267 


The veal being cooked to a nicety, the outlaws seated them- 
selves in a circle upon the mossy turf; the brother who had 
killed the “Jacobin,” brought a large pitcher of spring water, 
and the little man who had lighted the fire distributed to each 
a slice of bread, dipped in gravy. I learned that this repre- 
sented the soup. 

Never did more frank cheerfulness reign amongst a party 
of friends, than that which prevailed at this repast. 

After supper, the bishop, whom I had met disguised as a 
peasant, returned thanks, and the proscripts strolled about in 
detached groups. 

I remarked that the same brother who had killed the hare, 
placed carefully in a wooden porringer a slice of roast veal, and 
some bread and cheese'. 

“ Is it for one of your sentinels you are preparing this re- 
past?” I asked. 

“We have, indeed, sentinels and spies set to guard us and 
survey the enemy,” he replied; “but this portion is not for 
them. I am going to take it to a cure who has been attending 
a poor young man, who was wounded eight days ago.” 

“A young man of your party, and wounded by some repub- 
! lican soldier, I conclude ? ” 

“Yes, the Count de L , who received a ball in the 

shoulder, in venturing alone in the streets of St. Flour. It is 
a miracle that he was not killed.” 

“ Will it be inconvenient to you for me to accompany you?” 
said I. 

“ Not at all,” replied the brother, whose name was Peter, 
and whose frank and cordial manners had captivated me; “on 
the contrary, your society will be quite a treasure, I so rarely 
find an opportunity of conversing.” 

We descended the hill ; then following a foot-path scarcely 
discernible, we reached a narrow glade lying between two ra- 
vines in the very depths . of the forest. Removing, with his 


2G8 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


hand, the high broom which surrounded us, brother Peter ad- 
vanced a few more paces, and then in a soft and kind voice 
said, “Well, Monsieur Le Compte, how do you find yourself 
to-day ? ” 

I then perceived in a kind of fosse, a large hazel hamper six 
feet long, and filled with tree moss, which served for a bed for 
the wounded man. 

“My wounds are quite healed, brother,” answered the Count 

de L , in a firm voice, “ and if it was not for the fever 

which burns in my veins and racks my limbs, I should get up 
to-day. But, who is that soldier?” 

“That soldier, Mons. le Compte,” replied I, “is a moderate 
and conscientious republican, whose Tread will probably be cut 
off by the Jacobins, one of these days, but who, in the mean- 
time, will be happy to be of service to you, and to place himself 
completely at your disposal.” 

“ I should never have guessed your political opinions, sir,” 
replied the count; “1 should have taken you for one of us. 
As to the offers of service you make me, I thank you from the 
bottom of my heart. But first, one question : is it not as an 
outlaw that you are come to the forest ? ” 

“Certainly not; I came here with my friend Monsieur de la 
Rouvrette.” 

“ Will you allow me to finish my question. If you are not 
a proscript, you have the liberty of going where you please. 
Now, pray, what is the precise route you are taking? ” 

“ I am going first to St. Flour.” 

“You are going to St. Flour!” cried the count, with eager- 
ness ; “ heaven has sent you to me, and you may save my life ! 
Listen to me attentively, I entreat you.” 

“ That is the way, Mons. Le Compte ! if you add another 
word, I will beg of this gentleman to take himself off!” cried 
the old cure, who took care of the patient; “what! you are 
just recovered from a crisis of twelve hours, and are still burn* 


TIIE FEDERALISTS. 


269 


up with fever, and yet you will trouble yourself with business. 
Lie down, sleep, and to-morrow, if you are completely recovered, 
I will give you liberty of action.” 

The old cure spoke this with so much decision, that the 
invalid saw he must submit; and in a quarter of an hour he 
was in a deep sleep. 

I was about resuming the conversation with the cure, when 
I saw him hastily snatch up his fusil, and then lay his ear to 
the ground. He appeared to me to distinguish the noise of 
several persons coming from the neighboring thickets, who were 
advancing toward us with precaution and in silence. 

The mournful cry of an owl rose in the silence of night, 
upon which the old cure laid down his fusil, quietly resumed 
his place, and turning toward me : “ There ’s nothing to fear,” 
said he; “they are friends coming to pay a visit to the count.” 
i In fact, I immediately saw Mons. de la Rouyrette coming 
arm in arm with a man about a dozen years older than himself. 
I ran to meet them. 

“My dear sir,” said he to me, “allow me to introduce my 
oldest brother, the archdeacon.” 

“Ah! you have terribly frightened me,” I replied, after 
having respectfully bowed to the archdeacon; “ I thought for 
an instant that we were surprised by a detachment of revolu- 
tionary troops.” 

“Oh, there is no danger of that,” said he, smiling; “my pre- 
cautions are too well taken.” The new comers then inquired 
with much anxiety after the health of the count : they thanked 
and complimented the old cure, who had the care of him, for 
his devotedness, and proposed to him, if he felt himself too 
much fatigued, to take his place and watch the invalid during 
the night. 

“I thank you, heartily,” he answered, “but I cannot avail 
myself of your kindness. The young count is now quite out 
of danger; his mind alone is diseased; and as it is to me 


270 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


alone he can speak without reserve, I am quite indispensible 
to him.” 

Mons. Rouvrette did not consider it proper to persist, and 
after having remained about half an hour, was about leaving, 
when the cure spoke to him a few words in a low voice, which 
drew forth an exclamation of surprise. 

“You ought sooner to have apprised us of this circumstance, 
Monsieur le Cure ; it appears to me very important,” he re- 
plied. 

“ I was withheld by the fear of uselessly alarming the 
station.” 

“It is far better to frighten our friends, than to let them fall 
into danger. We will see to it to-morrow, and have a battue 
in the forest. In the meantime, I shall visit the sentinels and 
urge the most vigilant inspection.” 

“Sir,” said. I, to the cure, when Mons. Rouvrette was gone, 
‘Hhe invalid cannot hear us: tell me what you meant by say- 
ing, that you were afraid of alarming the station.” 

“The proscripts shut up in this forest, and amongst whom 
there are federalists, also outlawed, who do not live together. 
They are divided into five churches or stations.” 

“What! have you federalists amongst you? I am curious 
to know how you manage to live on good terms with them ! ” 

“ We are not so blinded by- the spirit of party, that we do n’t 
know how to acknowledge honesty wherever we find it. If the 
federalists, instead of being the minority, composed the majo- 
rity of our governors, the French republic would not have 
become an object of execration to the whole world; they might 
perhaps have rendered it possible! Have you any other 
question to put to me ? ” 

“I beg your pardon; but what is that fact, so serious, that 
you dared not divulge it for fear of alarming the station to 
which you belong ? ” 

“ The day before yesterday,” replied the old cure, slowly, 


BROTHER PETER AND THE SPY. 


271 


“ it might be about two hours after midnight, and I was asleep 
by the side of my patient, when I heard a noise of broken 
branches a few paces from me ; it appeared as if a man was 
advancing cautiously through the fern and brushwood. I seized 
my fusil, and placing myself between the count and the direc- 
j tion from whence the noise proceeded, I cried, with the whole 
strength of my lungs, ‘ Qui Vive ! 7 All was again silent. 
Convinced that I had been deceived, I resumed my repose. 
Judge of my anxiety, when, half an hour after, the branches 
began again to shake, and the same noise was repeated. This 
time, it was no longer possible to doubt, and my resolution 
was promptly taken. I sprang in the direction in which I 
supposed an enemy might be hidden, when a man, whom the 
darkness did not allow me to recognize, nnd who seemed to 
rise out of the ground, fled before me with such swiftness that 
I soon lost the noise of his footsteps. I leave you to judge in 
what state of anxiety I passed the rest of the night; the 
thought that the son of my benefactors might fall into the 
hands of revolutionary troops, froze my blood in my veins. 
Yesterday the same incident occurred again, in nearly the same 
manner as on the first occasion ; only this morning I found, 
hanging upon a thorn bush, a piece of red wool of the stuff of 
which the phrygian caps are made.” 

“ And have you not then communicated your fears and sus- 
picions to anybody ? ” I asked. 

“ To only one person,” he replied, “ brother Peter, who has 
promised me to pass this night in rummaging the environs of 
the place we are now in. But hold, I hear him now coming 
toward us.” 

In fact, the cure had scarcely spoken, when brother Peter* 
with his fusil on his shoulder, crept toward us. 

“Mons. la Cure,” said he, “I think I am near finding, out 
the mystery. If you hear a noise to-night, remain motionless 
till I call you, and trust yourself to my judgment, not to expose 
12 


272 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the count to the least danger.” So saying, he bowed to us, 
and disappeared. 

Complying with a hint from the old cure, I squatted myself 
amongst the broom, and held my peace. 

Two long and gloomy hours passed without any incident to 
disturb the silence of night, and I began to think that the 
priest had been the sport of some hallucination, when I heard, 
at a short distance from my hiding-place, the branches shake 
with considerable violence. I was about to rouse the old cure, 
when a light flashed across the darkness, and the discharge of 
a gun, followed, almost instantly, by a cry of agony, proceeded 
from a spot a few paces from me. 

Sabre in hand, I immediately darted out of my hiding-place, 
to defend the good old cure against the revolutionary troops. 
Fortunately, he ran no danger, as we learned from brother 
Peter, who, with a dark lantern in his left hand, and his fusil 
in his right, presented himself before us. 

“Fear nothing, gentlemen,” said he, “and follow me; the 
spy must be dead.” 

A few paces from the place where lay the count, we found 
a man, clad in a shepherd’s dress, and struggling in a pool of 
blood. 

“ Who are you ? And what do you come here for, w r retch ?” 
I demanded. 

“Alas, citizen, I am a poor father of a family, whom distress 
has led to commit a crime, and whom the justice of heaven 
has punished. For mercy sake have pity, if not on me, at 
least on my poor wife and unfortunate children.” 

“ You have received money to betray us to the executioner, 
you villain,” cried brother Peter. 

“ No, my good sir, do not think that,” replied the wounded 
man, in a voice that grew weaker and weaker. “I wanted, or 
to speak more properly, my master wanted only one person 
amongst you.” 


THE ASSASSIN HIS CONFESSION. 273 

“ What person ? Come, do n’t attempt to deceive me ! ” 

“ The Count de L ,” replied the wounded man. 

Brother Peter was about continuing his questions, when the 
count, whose name had just been pronounced, suddenly ap- 
peared himself upon the scene. Advancing slowly toward the 
wounded man, and in a voice, which his closed teeth rendered 
hoarse, and nearly unintelligible — 

“How is Mademoiselle Laura?”, he asked, fixing upon him 
a look of almost magnetic intenseness. 

“ Mademoiselle Laura!” repeated the wounded man; “you 
must be speaking of the citizen Durand ! ” 

“ Is Mademoiselle Laura then married ? ” resumed the young 
count, with an apparent indifference that alarmed me, for I 
saw at once that it was only a cloak to his redoubled rage. 

“ Certainly. To my master, the citizen Durand,” replied 
the peasant. 

“ Laura married to a citizen ! To a cartwright ! ” cried the 
count, darting upon the wounded man, and seizing him by the 
throat. “Wretch, you have belied her! Say you have lied, 
or I ’ll strangle you ! ” 

It was with great difficulty that the old cure, Peter, and 
myself could snatch the wounded man from his hands. 

“ Come, Edward, calm yourself,” said the cure ; “ do not 
afflict yourself thus about a falsehood. I assure you I do not 
at all believe in the marriage of Mademoiselle Laura. You 
know well that you are her affianced husband. To-morrow I 
will go with you to St. Flour, and I will bring her here. But, 
for mercy sake, moderate your passion, or you will destroy 
yourself.” 

The count uttered a heart-rending cry, and fell to the 
ground. By degrees, however, his transports diminished in 
violence, and ended in a flood of tears. 

“Mons. de la Rouvrette now appeared, accompanied by a 
dozen of the outlaws, who, attracted by the noise, had run to 


274 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


our help. In a few words, I put them in possession of the 
events which had occurred; and after committing' the wounded 
man to two of their party, they took the count to the en- 
campment. The rest of the night passed without any new 
incident 

I was about to rise in the morning, when I saw the hero of 
the night, brother Peter, advancing, and made haste to meet 
him: “Tell me,” said I, “who is the man whom you have 
wounded, and why did you shoot him ? What has he done ? ” 

“I don’t know the man,” he replied, “and 1 am ignorant 
of what was his intention. All I can say is, that I fired at him 
because I saw him put a pistol to the head of the young count 
de L . Now you know as much as I do on the subject.” 

A few minutes after, we reached a narrow glade, situated 
not far from the encampment, where I found the shepherd 
who had attempted to assassinate the count. He was 
guarded by two proscripts, and was securely bound. 

Although he had lost a great quantity of blood, he was in 
full possession of his senses; and his examination commenced 
soon after our arrival. 

“My friend,” said the bishop to him, “what motive led you 
to attempt the abominable crime of which you are guilty ? ” 

“ Alas ! Monseigneur,” replied the shepherd, “ it is distress. 
I am married, and the father of three children, very young, 
and my whole resources amount only to a hundred crowns a 
year, which my master pays me in assignats.” 

“ And who is your master ? ” 

“ My master is the citizen Durand, formerly a cartwnght, 
but now president of the district of Saint Flour.” 

“And it is by his order that you attempted to assassinate 
the count?” 

“Yes, Monseigneur, by his order.” 

“ Explain to me how you have penetrated into the midst of 
this forest, without being detected by one of our sentinels?” 


DEATH OF THE SPY. 


275 


“You forget, Monseigneur,” replied the wounded man, 
“that I am a shepherd myself. It was on that account alone 
that my master selected me to assassinate the count.” 

“And how much has your master paid you to accomplish 
this bloody mission ? ” resumed the bishop, addressing the 
wounded man. 

“ My master, Monseigneur, has given me three crowns in 
silver.” ' 

“ Three crowns ! What ! Is it for so small a sum that you 
have agreed to commit so wicked and odious a crime ? ” 

The examination of the prisoner was continued at some 
length, and his guilt being fully established, he was sentenced 
for immediate execution. 

Before the fatal moment, the count drew from him a con- 
firmation of the fact of Laura’s marriage, and the further 
information that she was the victim of her husband’s unmiti- 
gated brutality. 

When the assassin had fallen dead upon the sward : — 

“ Sir,” said the count, taking me by the arm, “ yesterday, 
you kindly offered me your services, which I have accepted ; 
are you still in the same mind in that respect ? ” 

“ I have only one word to say, Monsieur le Compte : To- 
day, as yesterday, I am at your command. Allow me even to 
add, that I have the greatest desire to be of service to you. 
Speak, then ; what can I do ? ” 

“ You can lend me your passport, and thus enable me to 
enter St. Flour without being noticed and pursued.” 

“Before complying with your desire, allow me to impose on 
you one condition : it is, that you will take some days of rest 
before you set out.” 

“ I consent to it,” answered he. “ In fact, I require all my 
strength for the accomplishment of the project I meditate.” 

During our walk, the young man related the history of his 
misfortunes in the following narrative: 


276 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ My cousin Laura, the only daughter of my father’s eldest 
brother, had not reached her seventeenth year, when I quitted 
her, about a year ago, to join the army of the princes, but she 
was already an accomplished beauty, and my affianced bride. 

“ In the small city of St. Flour, lived, at that time, a man 
named Durand, whose dissolute life whs branded with dis- 
graceful antecedents, and whose violence was dreaded by all 
his neighbors. This Durand, who had had many opportunities 
of seeing my cousin, fell desperately in love with her. I had 
scarcely been gone two months, when I received a letter from 
my cousin, acquainting me with the persecutions she had suf- 
fered from him. On reading her letter, I thought I should go 
mad with shame and rage; and at once resolved to go, without 
losing a minute, to the help of Laura. ^Unfortunately, being 
pursued and tracked from my first entry into France, I was 
compelled to conceal myself, and I could not reach St. Flour. 
A skillful emissary, whom I accompanied, informed me on his 
return, that this infamous Durand had been nominated ad- 
ministrator of the district, and had caused the Marquis de 

L , my uncle, and Laura’s father, to be arrested. Two 

lines written in haste by my cousin, confirmed to me this sad 
news. ‘I owe it to my father,’ said she, ‘that after having 
saved him, I shall have the right to die.’ 

“There was no time to hesitate, and my part was soon 
taken. Abandoning the shelter this forest afforded me, I in- 
stantly went to my uncle’s chateau, which is situated at about 
a quarter of a league from St. Flour. Alas, I found it in 
ruins ! Rendered insensible to danger by my sorrow, I boldly 
entered St. Flour, where I learned that my cousin was residing 
with citizen Durand, the ex-cartwright, and the actual presi- 
dent of the district, and the patriot — par excellence — of St. 
Flour. I determined to go at once and seek him. 

“It was almost night when I arrived at the house occupied 
by the president. My heart beat with violence, and it was not 


THE COUNT’S STORY. 


277 


without extreme excitement that I let fall the knocker of the 
door. 

“Judge of my despair, my rage, at seeing my cousin Laura 
in the first room in which I entered. 

You here, cousin?’ cried I, and was then silent, for my 
heart was so swelled that I could not speak. 

“ Pale as death, Laura looked at me with fixed and hao-o-ard 
eytes without replying. She seemed neither to see nor hear 
me; when, uttering all at once a heart rending shriek, she fell 
heavily on the ground. 

“To spring to her aid, to raise her, and dverwhelm her with 
assurances of friendship and tenderness, was to me the work of 
a moment. 

“Already I saw the blush mantling in her face ; already I 
felt her heart beat, when the door opened, and a man of a 
brutal aspect entered the room, uttering frightful blasphemies. 
This man was citizen Durand. 

“For a moment, disconcerted by my presence, which he was 
far from expecting, he was, nevertheless, not long in recovering 
his coolness, or to speak more properly, his impudence. 

“‘It appears,’ said he, addressing Laura sneeringly, ‘that 
you are not much better than your class, the other aristocrats. 
What! On the eve of our marriage, do you receive young 
gailants, who come to entertain you with amorous nonsense? 
Know that the hour of becoming the lawful wife of, a good 
patriot, involves serious obligations and grave duties. Retire!’ 

“ Citizen Durand then turned to me, and measuring me from 
head to foot, with an impudent look — 

“‘As to you, my fine spark,’ continued he, in a contemptuous 

tone, ‘I know you; you are the ci-devant Count de L . 

In the name of the republic which has outlawed you, I arrest 
you.’ 

‘“ Infamous rascal,’ said I, ‘if you take another step, I will 
blow out your brains ! ’ and I drew from my pocket a pair of 


278 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


double-barrelled pistols, with which I had provided myself, and 
placing one to his ear : ‘ On your knees/ I continued, ‘ on your 

knees, before Mademoiselle de L , and ask of her, before 

you die, pardon for these outrages.’ 

“Unable to speak a word, the villain did not hesitate to obey 
me ; he fell on his knees. 

“‘Laura/ continued I, addressing my poor cousin, ‘leave the 
room, I beg of you, for a moment.’ 

“ ‘ Why so, cousin ? ’ she asked, in a voice so broken that I 
guessed, rather than heard, what she said. 

“‘That I may do justice upon this scoundrel.’ 

“Laura took two steps toward the door, stopped a moment 
undecided, and then returning toward me : 

“‘Cousin/ said she, casting down her eyes, as if overcome 
with shame, ‘if the affection you have entertained for me is not 
now quite extinguished, respect the life of citizen Durand, whom 
I love, and who will soon be my husband/ 

“Poor and magnanimous child! How cruel and unjust was 
I toward her, when, driven mad by grief, I answered her, bow- 
ing deeply : 1 Citizen, I see that you have profited by the leisure 
the incarceration of your father, and my absence, have afforded 
you ; nor can I compliment you too much upon the exquisite 
tact and delicate taste you have displayed in choosing the citizen 
Durand for your knight’ 

“ I departed without turning my head, without reflecting that 
I was an outlaw, and that behind me I left an implacable enemy 
in the citizen Durand. 

* 

“Absorbed in grief, I passed through the city slowly, when 
cries, or rather furious howlings, caused me to turn my head. 
Five hundred paces behind me, I perceived a hungry pack of 
sans-culottes and revolutionists in pursuit of me. I felt such a 
disgust of life, that this spectacle, far from frightening, produced 
in me almost a sensation of pleasure. I continued, therefore, 
to advance, without quickening my pace, when the idea of 


THE COUNT’S STORY. 


279 


revenge presented itself to my mind. I resolved that the 
infamous president of the district should fall by my hand. I 
ran with the utmost speed; only one ball reached me in my 
flight, and it is from that wound I now suffer. Such, my dear 
sir, is my lamentable history.” 

“For so young a man as you are, you have already had much 
suffering,” said I, after a moment’s silence. “I can imagine 
that your cousin’s treachery has broken your heart. But, what 
I cannot "comprehend, why you can still think of her, and call 
her a poor magnanimous child! Nothing in the conduct she 
has displayed toward you, seems to justify this admiration on 
your part.” 

“Isolation and reflection are excellent counsellors,” replied 
the count. “I have coolly reflected, during my long illness, 
on the events that I have related, and I have arrived at the 
full conviction, that my poor cousin, in affecting to reciprocate 
the hideous tenderness of that Durand, has devoted herself to 
\ the safety of her father. Did she not write, that she would 
have the right to die, only after having saved her father ? ” 
“Ah, you are right,” cried I, “I understand it all now. That 
poor young lady is silently performing an action which involves 
the highest heroism. Tell me now, what are your projects and 
hopes ? Why have you asked me to lend you my passport ? 
What will you do when you get to St. Flour ? ” 

“My projects are very simple,” replied the young man. “1 
possess gold, with which it will be easy to corrupt one of the 
! gaolers of the house of detention, and thus get my uncle 
away. When once this object is accomplished, I will carry off 
Laura, and bring her, with her father, into our forests, where 
we will wait a propitious moment for passing the frontier. 
Your passport, in permitting me to remain freely at St. Flour, 
will greatly facilitate the accomplishment of this project.” 

“And, when once you shall have reached a hospitable 
country?” 

12 * 


280 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“I will marry Laura,” he replied. “What signifies the 
sacrilegious tie, which unites that angel to the bloody revolu- 
tionist ? I shall recollect the past, only to admire her filial 
devotion, and to curse her intended executioners.” 

As the count finished his recital, we reached the camp, 
where the bishop, clothed in his sacerdotal vestments, was 
celebrating mass. 

The third day after, my excellent friend, Mons. de la Rou- 
vrette, proposed to me to commence our return. “A longer 
absence,” said he, “may awaken suspicions about me, and pre- 
vent the intercourse I keep up with the prescripts.” 

After taking leave of the proseripts, we departed. I had 
agreed beforehand, with my new friend, the count, that I would 
wait for him the following day at nightfall, at the gates of St. 
Flour. I intended to avail myself of this interval, to get infor- 
mation of Laura and citizen Durand, to visit the prison, and to 
collect all the information necessary to the success of our 
enterprise. 

When we had once reached the highway, I parted from 
Mons. Rouvrette. I took the road leading to Chaude Aigues, 
where I arrived only a little before nightfall. No 'incident 
worth relating marked my stay at this little town. I had 
appointed a rendezvous with the count at the gates of -St. 
Flour, but my embarrassment was extreme, when, on reaching 
that city, I perceived that it was separated into two parts, the 
one situated at the base, the other at the summit of a hight, 
and that it had no gates. I determined to await my young 
friend at the entry of the suburbs, but conjecturing that the 
count would not arrive till the next day at nightfall, I decided 
to go and see this Durand, the sole cause of his misfortune. 

The house occupied by the great patriot, Durand, formerly 
a poor cartwright, and now a rich proprietor, w^as one of the 
handsome dwellings in St. Flour. 

I perceived, seated in the first room into which I was shown, 


POISON. 


281 


a young female, whom I presumed must be Mademoiselle 

Laura de L . Two old gossips kneeled at the foot of the 

arm-chair in which she sat, making her inhale salts, calling 
her by name, and rubbing her hands, without receiving any 
answer. 

“What do you want, citizen?” asked one of the old women. 

“ To speak to the citizen, president of the district,” I replied. 

“ He is absent, and will not return in less than an hour.” 

“Very well, I will return: but tell me, citizen, is not this 
young woman ill ? I possess some knowledge of medicine ; if 
you have need of me, you have only to speak, and I am at 
your command.” 

“I thank you,” answered the old woman, “and accept your 
offer with pleasure. Here ’s the fact in two words ; this young 
citizen was married only a week ago.” 

“She appears to me very young to be married.” 

“Oh, no, she is near seventeen. This morning a babbling- 
ton o-ue has told her bad news, which has much troubled her.” 

“ What bad news, citizen ? ” 

“ Well, she has learned that her father was guillotined a 
-week ago to-day, in fact the same day, and just the hour, that 
she was married.” 

Judge of the grievous sensation these words caused me. 
Still I had presence of mind and command of myself to con- 
ceal the violent shock I had received. 

I advanced slowly toward the chair, and taking the arm 
of the unfortunate young person, I felt her pulse with all the 
gravity of a consummate practitioner. That pulse was so 
feeble, so insensible, that for a moment I thought it had ceased 
to beat. 

“ Was it immediately after she had learned the tragical 
death of her father, that she fell into this kind of lethargy ? ” 
I asked of the old woman. 

“Yes* citizen,” she replied. 


282 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Reflect well, I beg of you, before you answer, for the 
question I put to you at this moment is very serious : Has not 
this young woman been left alone ? Has she spoken ? ” 

“No, indeed, she has said nothing; she has contented her-, 
self w ith sobbing and drinking from a little vial, which, doubt- 
less, contains a portion ordered by the doctor who attends her. 
Then, after having swallowed the contents of that vial, she 
seated herself in this arm-chair. A quarter of an hour after, 
she was such as you see her now— like one dead.” 

“And that vial, of which the unfortunate lady has drank 
the contents, where is it ? Have you preserved it ? ” 

“ The vial was broken in falling from the hands of the 
citizen to the ground, and we have swept away the pieces,” 
answered the old woman. 

“Well, find those pieces at once,” cried I; “and try, above 
all, to procure the label which was attached to it.” 

One of the women, she who had not yet spoken, went out 
grumbling, and returned in about a minute. 

“Here are the pieces you want to see, citizen,” said she. 

“ As to the label, I have found it whole, and have also 
brought it.” 

I eagerly seized this last object. Let the reader judge of 
my despair, when I read in printed characters, External me; 
then a little lower, written by hand, these two terrible words. 
Laudanum Rousseau. 

“ Why, wretches ! ” cried I, addressing the two old gossips, 
who drew back with fright. “Wretches, do you know that 
your mistress is poisoned ? ” 

“ Is the citizen poisoned ? ” 

“Why, yes, a thousand times yes! Come, quick, fetch a 
doctor as soon as possible.” 

“ Nay, citizen,” replied the old woman, “ if she is poisoned, 
it is probably because she had enough of life; Tis a matter 
that does not concern us.” • 


MARTIAL TENDERNESS. 


283 


“ Infamous hag J you deserve to — ” 

“Don’t put yourself out, citizen; if you knew, as I do, the 
upshot of the thing, the interest you take in that handsome 
child would not be so strong. Oh ! you need not roll your eyes 
in that way; I am the aunt of citizen Durand; fancy to your- 
self, that my nephew is fallen in love with this chit, I don’t 
well know why, but the more’s the pity; and yet that girl is 
actually the aunt of the ex-Marquis de L .” 

“ And is it this ci-devant who was guillotined a week ago ? ” 

“ The same. Marry ! you may guess that weakness has its 
limits. My nephew is fond of his wife, but he is a good 
patriot, and in spite of the love he bears to this girl, he has 
not yet fallen so low as to consent to-become the son-in-law of 
a ci-devant. The day of this marriage, he therefore had the 
spirit to send his father-in-law to the guillotine.” 

The deep indignation, the unspeakable horror this confession 
caused in me, almost deprived me of consciousness. I was 
still under this influence when the doctor arrived. He ordered 
coffee and mustard plasters, and gave me the promise of re- 
turning again before the end of the day. As for me, fearing 
that the horrid and wicked aunt of the president would leave 
the unfortunate girl to die for want of assistance, I installed 
myself without ceremony in the house, and began to prepare 
the doctor’s prescription. 

In the first instance, I ordered that the patient should be 
put to bed. I had then just poured the coffee into a cup, and 
was about taking it to her, when citizen Durand arrived. He 
had been out since the morning, and was ignorant of the fatal 
accident which had befallen his victim. The first word was 
not one of pity, but of rage. 

“ Ah, the wretch ! ” cried he, in a hoarse and sottish voice. 
“ Is it thus that she acknowledges my kindness ? A race of 
vipers is that of these aristocrats ! They are all alike ! May 
the devil carry me away if I put myself out for this duchess; 


284 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


she will die, will she! Well, let her die, then! What do I 
care ? ” 

“ What do you want, citizen officer?” he continued, turning 
to me, and looking at me with an insolent and suspicious air. 

“ I come,” replied I, in the absence of the commissary of 
war, to bring my passport to you to be vised.” 

" What does that concern me?” he cried. “ Address your- 
self to the district; the office is open till night, and you will 
find the secretary there. Go, be off!” 

“ Do you know, citizen,” I answered, “ that you have a way 
of expressing yourself, that does not in any respect please me ? 
The w r ant of manners you display in addressing a defender of 
the country, gives me a very bad opinion of your patriotism. 
I will just speak two words about you to my cousin of the 
convention. Farewell.” At this answer, the citizen president of 
the district lost all his assurance, and entirely changed his tone. 

“ But, citizen,” said he, “ I assure you that you deceive 
yourself respecting me. If I have answered you with a little 
roughness, it is because my wife is in the last extremity, and 
I scarcely know what I say or do.” 

I should have wished to have staid longer, to be certain 

that Mademoiselle de L wanted for nothing; but fearing 

to awaken the suspicions of Durand, I resolved to leave. 
Instead of going at once to the district office, I went down 
again into the suburbs of the city, and took a room at the inn 
of the Niveau Egalitaire; for it was possible that the young 

Count de L might arrive the same day, and I wished to 

announce to him the sad news I had learned. 

I was leaning sorrowfully on my elbow at the window of my 
room, when all at once I recognized, in the person of a peasant, 

the Count de L coming toward the inn. I cleared the 

staircase at two leaps, and ran forward to meet him. 

“ Ah ! here you are,” cried I, tenderly embracing him, “ I 
did not expect you before to-morrow evening.” 


THE CONVERSATION. 


285 


* { The fact is,” he replied, “ that the restlessness and anxiety 
which consumed me, were such that I could delay no longer. 
I will not ask you whether you have learned any news con- 
cerning my cousin, as you have yet had no time to take any 
steps.” 

“ You deceive yourself, my dear friend,” said I, in a voice 
broken by my tears ; “ I have news and very sad news, too, to 
give you. Follow me to my inn.” 

In a few minutes, we were shut up in my room. “ My dear 
sir,” said I, with a sorrow I could not conceal, pledge me, upon 
your honor, to support like a man of courage the fearful news 
that I have to communicate.” 

“ I swear to you,” he answered, with a firmness and in- 
difference which I did not expect in him. “ Speak fearlessly! 
My cousin is no more ; is it not so ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle de L still lives, but I ought not to 

conceal from you that her state is nearly desperate.” 

“ I understand. The misfortune which overwhelms her has 
for a moment overcome her religious feelings * she has committed 
suicide.” 

“ Yes,” answered I, in a stifled voice. “But alas! that is 
not all.” 

“ Ah ! that is not all,” repeated the count, preserving the 
same impassibility. “ What more can have happened?” 

“ You forget, my dear and unfortunate friend, your uncle, 
the marquis.” 

“ True. Well! he has killed himself also?” 

“No; but he has been assassinated by the hand of the 
executioner! His head fell at the same moment that his 
daughter, your cousin, married citizen Durand.” 

“ My excellent uncle ! ” said the count calmly ; “ he, at least, 
is now happy ! ” 

I confess that at the sight of this extraordinary indifference 
displayed by the count, on learning the fearful misfortunes 


286 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


that had befallen his family, I felt thrilled with an icy coldness. 
I regarded the yourfg man with surprise, mingled with fear, 
for I fancied for a moment that his reason had given way. 
But nothing in this examination occurred to confirm my 
fears. 

“ Faith, I cannot comprehend you ! ” cried I ; “ your conduct 
and your attitude are to me a mystery beyond my reach.” 

“ My conduct is very simple and very logical, nevertheless ; 
the ties that attached me to life, being broken, human griefs 
pass off without affecting me. To-morrow, at farthest, I shall 
have rejoined my cousin and uncle. Adieu, my dear friend. 
Hold, take these two hundred louis, of which I shall uo longer 
have need. You are good and sensible, and this money will 
serve you in comforting the unhappy. If you meet with an 
unsworn priest, beg of him to say some masses for the repose 
of my soul. Let us again embrace, and again, once more, 
adieu ! ” 

The count then took a pair of double-barrelled pistols from 
his pockets, carefully examined the priming, and went toward 
the door, without saying a single word. 

“ What are you going to do, unhappy man ? ” said I, darting 
toward him and seizing him by the arm ; “ to destroy your- 
self without resource, or advantage to anybody ? ” 

“ Let me alone, my friend,” he replied, attempting mildly 
to disengage himself from my grasp. “ Your exhortations and 
remonstrances can have no effect upon my resolution. My 
destiny is written in heaven, and it must be accomplished.” 

“Take care, my friend,” cried I, still retaining him; “don’t 
you see that you are falling into blasphemy ? Can you believe 
that a crime, — for that’s what you meditate, — can be written 
in heaven ? ” 

“ My dear sir,” replied the count, with the utmost coolness, 
“ I repeat that human considerations have no longer influence 
over me. I am in pursuit of an end which I will attain before 


THE COUNT'S KESOLVE. 


287 


I die. I will therefore sacrifice every obstacle that lies between 
my will and that end.” 

“ This is a threat, count.” 

“ No, my friend, it is not a threat, but a warning. I esteem 
you, and love you ; but if you persist in opposing my departure 
I shall be under the hard necessity of blowing out your brains ! 
Every thing is indifferent to me, except my. vengeance. Now, 
and for the last time, adieu.” 

“ No! I will not abandon you to run thus foolishly to death,” 
cried I. “ Since my remonstrances have no effect upon you, I 
will accompany you and share your dangers.” 

“ You will do wrong,” said he, quietly. “ The best thing 
you can do, is to forget that chance has ever thrown you in my 
way, and to banish even my name from your memory.” 

“ I have said that I will follow you, and not abandon you,” 
said I ; “ what I have said, I will do ! ” 

“Be it so,” he answered; “I no longer oppose you. But 
follow me at a distance, that those who may meet us, do not 
perceive that we are together.” 

“ I will remember ; let us go out.” 

After a ten minutes’ walk, we reached the house inhabited 
by Durand. The young man knocked, and the aunt of Durand 
opened the door. Half a minute later I entered in my turn, 
but saw no one. 

Crossing the dining hall and guided by the sound of voices, 
I pushed open a second door, and entered a large bedchamber, 
where I perceived the citizen Durand and his aunt, Mademoi- 
selle de L , and the count, her cousin. It w r as a perfect 

drama. 

The young man, with his pistols in his hand, looked fixedly 
at the poor child, whose colorless countenance, already over- 
cast with the shades of death, outdid by its extreme paleness the 
whiteness of the sheets. On his cheeks no trace of a tear was 
seen. Huddled against the wall at one of the angles of the 


288 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


bed-room, citizen Durand and his amiable aunt were crouched 
one ao'ainst the other in the most extreme terror. 

O 

“ My friend,” said the count, almost smiling, “ you see I have 
lost no time in making myself master of the place ; I hold the 
murderer in my power! Faith, since you have determined to 
follow me, it is but justice that you should share my laurels; 
have the goodness to go and shut carefully the street door, 
that they may not surprise us.” I did not hesitate to obey, 
and hastened to shut the door, and for additional security, I 
pushed before it a pile of furniture. 

“ My dear sir,” said the count, when I returned to the room, 
“ take this pistol, and on the least movement that that wretch 
and his accomplice shall make to escape, blow out their brains ; 
whilst you hold them in your keeping, I shall go over the 
house ; my absence will not be long.” 

“ Citizen officer,” said the president of the district, in a low 
voice, as soon as the count had left us, “ if you will set us at 
liberty, I swear upon the salvation of the republic, that you 
shall have no reason to repent of it.” 

“ Do not fear that we shall denounce you,” added the old 
aunt ; “ assuredly our gratitude will guarantee both our dis- 
cretion and silence.” 

“ I would ask nothing better than to listen to your en- 
treaties,” I replied ; “ but I have given my word to my com- 
panion, and I cannot break it.” 

I had scarcely finished speaking, when the count returned. 

“ I have found what I wanted,” said he, “ a cellar without 
any opening to the street, vaulted with cut stone, and closed 
with a door so thick that I think it must be cannon-proof. 
“ Come, follow me,” continued he, addressing the prisoners. 
The president and his aunt did not wait for a repetition of 
this order, but obeyed immediately. 

As soon as I found myself alone with Mademoiselle de 
L , I hastily approached her bed, and rising her in my 


THE MEETING OF THE LOVERS. 


289 


arms, first awoke her from her lethargic sleep, and then 
prevailed on her to take a whole cup of coffee. “ Well, cousin, 
how do you find yourself now?” asked her lover, whom I had 
not heard return, but who then had placed himself behind me, 
straight, motionless, and with fixed look and arms crossed. 

At the sound of that voice which was so dear to her, Made- 
moiselle de L , uttering all at once a terrible shriek, and 

closing her eyes, cried with affright, “ Mercy, Gaston ! mercy ! 
Do not curse me ! I must save my father ! ” 

“Laura, my beloved, my only love,” said the young man, in 1 
a mild voice, and falling on his knees at the foot of the bed 
where the poor girl lay : “ Speak no more of the past. We 
are about to be re-united for ever. God waits us in heaven.” 

The count seized one of his cousin’s hands, and raised it 
respectfully to his lips. I could not refrain from weeping. 

“You forgive me, then, Gaston,” resumed Mademoiselle de 

L , whose countenance, already altered by the approach 

of death, was covered with a slight blush, and became resplen- 
' dent with beauty and youth. 

“ Forgive you, my sainted Laura ! What have I to, forgive 
you for? The sacrifice of your happiness which you have 
had the courage to make to duty ? Your martyrdom, your 
I long agony ? ” 

“How good and noble you are, Gaston,” murmured the 
young girl, regarding him with an angelic look. “Your ap- 
pearance has so much affected me, Gaston, that I have not yet 
had time to wonder how you came here.” 

“My presence proves to you, my beloved Laura, that God 
never abandon^ those who believe and hope in his goodness.” 

“ But, alas ! ” said Mademoiselle de L , “ is not my 

death a crime ? Will God forgive my having made an attempt 
on my life ? ” 

“ Set your mind at rest, my beloved,” said the young man, 
softly grasping her hand; “when you drank the poison which 


290 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


destroys you, grief had deprived you of your senses. You 
have not yielded to a guilty thought, but to delirium.” 

“ Gaston, might I not see a priest ? ” 

At this question from the poor unfortunate girl, a cloud 
passed over the countenance of her lover. _ 

“That is impossible!” said he. “No human being must 
again penetrate into this dwelling. Why look at me with 
wondering eyes, Laura? Cannot you perceive that I am 
jealous of your last sigh?” 

At that moment, a nervous spasm agitated the frail and 
delicate frame of the young girl, and Gaston, rising hastily, 
began to lavish upon her every attention in his power. 

I shall not relate the tender and sweet conversation of the 
two lovers. Many times during their discourse, when they 
recurred to the happy days of their youth, and spoke of the 
games and the troubles of their childhood, I felt the tears flow 
down my cheeks in spite of myself. Alas! This discourse 
was to be their last. The unfortunate girl turned pale, and 
again fell into a dreadful fit. I then left the corner where I 
had remained till then motionless, and ran to help her. My 
appearance seemed greatly to astonish the count. “What! 
Have you not yet gone away ? ” said he. “ I believed you 
were already far from hence, and thought no more of you. 
Come, follow me.” 

Gaston then took me roughly by the arm, and without giv- 
ing me time to answer him, dragged me toward the outer door. 

“But, my friend,” said I, whilst he hastily destroyed the 
kind of barricade which 1 had formed with the furniture 
against the door, “ what are you going to do ? . Listen to me, 
I conjure you.” 

Without replying to me, the count continued his work, and 
opening the door, pushed me gently into the street. 

“And your gold that you have left with me,” said I, 
abruptly, “ take it again ! ” 


I AM UNEASY ABOUT THE EATE OF GASTON. 291 

1 On hearing these words, the count raised his shoulders with 
an air of pity. “You well know that I have nothing further 
to do with earth ; keep that gold,” said he, shutting the door 
1 sharply upon himself. 

It would not be easy to make the reader understand the 
1 extraordinary impression I felt on finding myself again in 
the street. 

It was to a selfish feeling, the instinct of self-preservation, 
that I owed the recovery of my presence of mind. A de- 
- tachment of revolutionary troops, who debouched at the mo- 
ment from the end of a street, recalled me to a true appre- 
ciation of my position. I fancied myself arrested, and I 
hastened to get out of the way at a quick pace toward my 
hotel. 

On arriving at the Niveau Egalitaire , I shut myself up in 
my room, for it seemed to me that, during my walk, many 
persons had looked at me with astonishment. I consulted my 
glass, and it showed me a face so pale, and features so dis- 
ordered, that I was afraid of my own picture. I threw 
myself upon the bed, and found by my watch, when I awoke, 
that I had slept an hour. This refreshing rest completely 
restored me to my usual condition, and I thought I might 
proceed, without danger of awakening suspicions, to have my 
passport vised at the district. Thanks to the accidental meet- 
ing I had with an honest and obliging citizen, who offered to 
be my guide, I soon arrived at the district and obtained my 
vise. In another hour I again entered my inn, more and 
more uneasy respecting the fate of Gaston. At every noise 
of a step, at the least creaking of a worm-eaten staircase, I 
jumped off my chair, and placed my ear against the door. In 
; vain my reason, in accordance with my presentiments, told me 
that Gaston would never return; that I had seen him for the 
last time. I fought against the reality, and strove to persuade 
myself that all hope was not yet lost. 


292 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


Night soon came. A heavy rain began to fall, and drove 
violently against the cracked window-panes. 

Every one knows how much the objects which surround us, 
the physical atmosphere in which we find ourselves enveloped, 
influence the imagination and weigh upon the thoughts. The 
rain, the profound darkness, and the icy cold which prevailed, 
sunk me, at the end of an hour, into such a condition -of dis- 
couragement, that I could not restrain my tears. I am per- 
suaded that if the inn-keeper had not come to tell me that 
supper was ready, I should have remained up, without think- 
ing of going to bed, during the rest of the night. Fearing, 
however, to excite" suspicion, by remaining thus shut up in my 
chamber, I replied to my host that I had fallen asleep from 
fatigue, and then hastened to go down. 

Whenever it begins to rain at St. Flour the air becomes 
very cold ; I was not surprised then, on entering the kitchen, 
to see a dozen persons sitting before the fireplace, in which, 
although it was the hight of summer, blazed up an enormous 
fagot of dry vine branches. The conversation turned upon 
the events of the day. When I entered the kitchen, a man, 
whose spatterdashes, all covered with dust, showed that he 
was just off a journey, began to tell us what he had seen 
during his travels. 

He was suddenly interrupted by a boy who entered the 
kitchen quite out of breath, and in a hoarse voice cried “fire!” 

“Follow me,” said the new comer, whose panting proved 
that he had run rapidly; “follow me, the line is formed, and 
there is not a moment to lose! ” 

“But whose house is on fire?” asked one of those present. 

“ That of citizen Durand, the president of the district.” 

The reader will really comprehend the deep concern this 
answer produced in me. I rushed like a madman into the 
street. The direction taken by the crowd whom I met, soon 
confirmed the terrible news which I had learnt. A few 


THE COUNT’S REVENGE. 


293 


minutes later, the sight of a sheet of flame, which illuminated 
the darkness of the night, made me redouble my speed. When 
I reached the street in which the burning house was situated, I 
was stopped by so compact a crowd, that it was impossible for 
me to advance nearer than within two hundred paces of the 
burning house ; I hastened to join the line, formed by the 
inhabitants. 

“Do you know,” I asked of my neighbor, in taking from 
him the pail full of water he held to me to pass to the next, 
“if there is any one dead or wounded?” 

“I don’t know exactly,” he replied. “The most strange 
and extraordinary reports are circulated on the subject of this 
fire. They say that citizen Durand has barricaded himself 
with his wife and his aunt in his house, and that he himself is 
the author of the catastrophe.” 

“That seems very extraordinary. How can you suppose 
that a man, unless indeed he is mad, could commit such an act ? ” 

“They add, that citizen Durand, jealous as a tiger of his 
wife, had surprised her with a young man, and that then, 
quite beside himself, and having lost his reason, he has set fire 
to his house.” 

I left off talking with my neighbor, for I had no reason to 
doubt the origin of this drama. It was evident that Gaston, 
after the death of his cousin, had no wish to survive her, and 
that before following her, he had, to revenge himself, accom- 
plished this act of destruction, which so much alarmed the city. 

Next day, greatly agitated and disturbed at the melancholy 
end of these noble young people, I was about to leave the 
town, when I felt myself seized by the collar. Turning round, 

1 1 perceived at once that I was arrested by a lieutenant of 
[gendarmes, followed by his troop. 

“Iam a soldier of the republic,” I said; “and carry my 
passport. Beware how you meddle with me ! ” 

“You are in correspondence with the aristocrats,” he 


294 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


retorted, “ and was seen to-day in company with a ci-devant 
who has escaped us. You must answer for all that at the bar 
of the tribunal.” 

“I am innocent,” I cried, “as you will learn to your cost.” 

“ That remains to be seen. Come, march ! ” said the leader 
of the troop. Thus, in a few minutes, I traversed as a pris- 
oner the streets of St. Flour. Scarcely any persons turned 
about to see me pass. After a rapid march we arrived at the 
district, and I was ushered into the presence of the vice- 
president. 

“ Who are you ? Where did you come from ? What crime 
are you accused of?” demanded he. 

“ I am an officer, returning from fighting on the frontier 
against the enemies of the republic, and they accuse me of 
corresponding with aristocrats. Here T s my passport, which 
your secretary has vised only yesterday.” 

The vice president seized the paper roughly, cast his eyes 
over it, and resumed his interrogates, when a carriage, driven 
at full gallop, stopped in the court of the district. A little 
after, a nervous and rapid step was heard in the ante-chamber, 
and soon a young man, with a proud and resolute air, entered 
the room where I was. 

At the sight of this new comer, I could not repress an ex- 
clamation of surprise, for I suspected that I was lost. The 
stranger, whose appearance, so unforeseen and ill-timed, caused 
me such a sensation of fear, was no other than the same Com- 
missary of Public Safety whom I had met at St. Cunat fif- 
teen days before, whose dinner I had involuntarily eaten, and 
who had taken me for a colleague. 

Scarcely had he announced his title, than the vice-president 
rose with a haste quite unrepublican, and offered him the arm- 
chair on which he was seated. 

“ I am come to the district merely, to throw a glance over „ 
the register, and ask some information,” said this eminent 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 295 

personage, looking at me with a fixedness and attention that it 
required all my efforts to sustain with indifference. “But no, 
I cannot be deceived 1” added he, continuing his examination 
of my person. “It is certainly he. What! colleague, don’t 
you recollect me ? ” 

I saw that impudence alone could save me, and calling up 
all my sang froid to my aid, I resolved to push the game to 
the end. “I recollect you, perfectly,” replied I. 

“Well, then, why do you remain thus silent and motionless, 
without offering me your hand ? ” 

“ Because, as you ought to recollect, it is my system never 
to make any demonstrations that may compromise the incognito 
that I wish to preserve,” replied I, affecting singularity. 

“Faith, I am wrong, I confess. I had forgotten, on meeting 
you again, that you proceed mysteriously. After all, there is 
no great harm done. The citizen vice-president is probably 
the only person who knows your position, and he will be cau- 
tious. What are you about in this district ? Do n’t put your- 
self out ; if my presence annoys you, say so. I have occasion 
to go to the popular society, and will return when you have 
finished your business.” 

“The fact is,” said I, increasing in impudence and audacity, 

I for the decisive moment appeared to me arrived, “ the fact is, 

I your presence does disconcert me.” 

“ That ’s just what I guessed. In that case, I will run to the 
popular society. Without saying adieu, I hope we shall dine 
together to-day.” 

“ I cannot promise you that, but I will use all my endeavors 
to do so. Aifrevoir” 

During this dialogue, the vice-president had evinced unequi- 
vocal signs of astonishment. Nor can I even now recall, with- 
out laughing, the comic expression of stupor in liis face, when, 
for the first time, he saw the Commissary of Public Safety treat 
me as a colleague. 

13 


29 G 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Pardon me, citizen,” said he, retaining him for a moment, 
as he was leaving the hall, “I don’t comprehend your dis- 
course. Why do you treat this soldier as a colleague, and tell 
him that he may reckon on my discretion ? ” 

At this question, the commissary looked at me, smiling and 
shrugging his shoulders in pity, as much as to say, “truly, 
these provincial gentry are not very knowing.” Then, with- 
out deigning to reply, he walked toward the outer door. My 
heart beat violently; a few more steps and I was free. Alas! 
my destiny was written and fulfilled! The vice-president, who 
had not lost a single gesture of this pantomine, ran toward the 
commissary, and placing himself before him at the door, 
“ citizen,” said he, “I entreat you to answer me. Have I, then, 
in arresting this officer, involuntarily failed in respect to a friend 
of the illustrious and incorruptible Robespierre? Never shall 
I forgive myself for this contempt. x Speak, I entreat you.” 

“How! Have you arrested this officer?” repeated the com- 
missary, with an astonishment which augured evil for me. 

“ I have, and I was interrogating him when you arrived.” 

“And did he reply ? ” 

“He showed me his papers, which are all correct, and prove 
that he belongs to the army of Piedmont.” 

At this reply of the vice-president, the countenance of the 
young revolutionary delegate changed, his smile disappeared, 
and gave place to a grave and severe expression, his eyebrows 
contracted in a threatening manner, and in a dry and haughty 
voice: “Let me see your papers,” said he, abruptly. 

I was lost! My audacity having failed, there was nothing 
left for me, but to submit with resignation to my unhappy lot; 
and I instantly obeyed. 

The Commissary of Public Safety examined my papers with 
great attention, and then, turning to the vice-president: 

“Citizen,” said he, “you must answer with your head for 
this spy.” 


I AM TAKEN FOR A SPY. 


297 


“What! Is not that officer, then, a government com- 
missary ? ” 

“The wretch, I repeat, is a spy, an emissary of the foreigner, 
a royalist, a federalist, an English agent, perhaps, even, an 
unsworn priest, or, better still, a ci-devant, an aristocrat ! ”, 

In proportion as the commissary advanced in this nomencla- 
ture, the vice-president recoiled from me with horror. 

“Citizen,” said I, calmly, to my old acquaintance of St. 
Cunat, “all these crimes of which you accuse me, may be 
reduced to a single wrong: that of having taken you for a 
man of spirit, and having joked with you; if you will be just, 
consult your memory, and you will see that I never repre- 
sented myself to be a commissary of the government; on the 
contrary, I always refused to accept the title of colleague that 
you persisted in giving to me.” 

“Yes, in order to confirm me still more in my error. Ah! 
Do you imagine that you can, with impunity, mock a Commis- 
sary of the Public Safety ; conspire against the republic ? ” 

“Here I stop you,” cried I. “ I think that if ever a republic 
is possible in France, and I confess I begin to doubt it, it will 
only exist on the condition of being eminently honest and 
virtuous. Those who conspire against it, are the men who 
make use of the name, in order to satisfy their base and vile 
passions; who cover themselves with its mantle, in order to 
gratify their personal revenge; who cry up liberty to-day, 
whilst incarcerating their enemies ; equality, in exacting that 
every one shall bow before their power; fraternity, in send- 
ing to the scaffold those whose virtues or talents are a living- 
satire on their immorality or incapacity.” 

“Hold your tongue, wretch,” cried the commissary, inter- 
rupting me angrily, “ Hold your tongue, or I will have you 
gagged.” 

“Be it so,” said I, “I will hold my tongue; but at least do 
not arrest me on the pretence that I have conspired. Confess 


298 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


to me honestly as you can, the ridiculous part that I have 
involuntary caused you to play, and that you thus revenge 
yourself.” 

My ex-colleague of St. Cunat did not think proper to answer 
me, and went away, after again recommending the vice-presi- 
dent to watch over my safety. In a short time, the same 
revolutionary troop who had arrested me, conducted me to the 
house of seclusion. At the door of that sad dwelling stood 
thr^e berlins, all horsed and ready to set out. 

“For whom are these carriages intended?” I asked of the 
turnkey who received me. 

“What does it signify?” he replied, savagely. “Come, 
march ! ” 

“Where are you taking me to?” resumed I, mildly. “I 
warn you that I have money, and I prefer paying, rather than 
being consigned to the common hall.” 

The gaoler seemed to hesitate, then with a bad imitation of 
a smile : 

“Good,” said he, “give me a crown and you shall have a 
room.” 

One of the turnkeys who accompanied us, opened a low, 
narrow door, and pushing me by the shoulders into a kind of 
unoccupied niche, burned the locks behind him, and left me to 
my sad reflections. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Bound for Paris — Traveling Accommodations and Traveling Companions — The 
Laughing Philosopher and the Weeping Willow — The Anglo-Spaniard — Brutality 
of our Conductors — Arrival at Paris — Prison Accommodations at a Premium — 
The Conciergery — The Ruffian Pampin — His Practical Sympathy — The Political 
Section — Mons. Riouffe — Madame D Citizen Bertrand — Camille Desmou- 

lins — Danton — Madame Roland — I am sent to the Abbaye — Infernal Treatment — 
I Attack the Turnkey — Tete-a-tete with the Governor — A Dinner and a Bottle — 
Am removed to the Eveche — Examined by the Judge — Am sent to St. Lazare — 
Anselme Again — Fall of Robespierre — Release, and Parling with Anselme — 
NanteS, Tours, and the Republican Camp in La Vendee — Captain Cherche-a- 
manger — A Terrible Surprise — Battle and Murder, and Sudden Death — Again 
Defeated by Charrier — I am Knocked on the Head. 

When that door closed upon me, it appeared as if I had no 
longer belonged to the world, and had entered the ante-chamber 
of eternity. But my reflections werejjf short duration; scarcely 
had half an hour passed ere a key grated in the lock, and I 
saw the gaoler appear. 

“Come, get up and come along,” said he, in a ferocious 
voice : “ The convoy is ready.” 

“What convoy?” I asked. “Am I not to remain here? 
Have you not made me pay a crown for my chamber?” 

“Who asked you for your crown? Nobody. You gave it, 
and I took it, that’s all! Come, step along, and hold your 
tongue.” 

Scarcely had I set foot in the street, when two gendarmes 
seized me, one by the collar and the other by the hind part of 
mv uniform, and threw me into one of the berlins: at the same 
instant my rolling prison was hurled away by the horses. 

The carriage contained three other prisoners. My neighbor 


300 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


on the left, was a large man with a round belly, florid com- 
plexion, thick red lips, and a vivid eye: he might be about 
forty -five years old. Seated in front of me, was a little old 
man, with a thin, half-starved body, and a melancholy counte- 
nance. At his side was a young fellow, whose swarthy com- 
plexion, and strongly marked features, denoted a foreign origin. 
He, smoked a cigar, without appearing to trouble himself about 
his neighbors. It was the large man who spoke first. 

“It appears, citizen,” said he to me, “that the army pays its 
contingent to politics, also; and that the uniform of the officer 
is not more respected by our legislators than the carmagnole 
of the artizan. May I be allowed to ask what has occasioned 
your arrest?” 

“I am accused of corresponding with aristocrats.” 

“And I have been arrested for the crime of cheerfulness; I 
assure you, I am speaking quite seriously.” 

“Is it possible? I do not comprehend you.” 

“A shoemaker, whom I had turned off, because I was not 
satisfied with his work, denounced me for having laughed on 
the day when news came of a check received by our army. 
They apprehended and interrogated me. What would you 
have ? The questions they put were so comical, and the judge 
so much given to pleasantry, that I could not resist the temp- 
tation of making him feel his impertinence. Consequently he 
saw I was a federalist. The next day they threw me into this 
carriage, in order to send me to Paris to give an account of 
myself. I now desire only one thing, that, when I appear be- 
fore Fouquier Tinville, I may possess strength of mind enough 
to avoid laughing in his face.” 

“And I, too, what shall I say then ? ” cried the little old man, 
who had not before taken any part in the conversation. 

“Ah ! is that your voice, you unfortunate weeping willow ? ” 
exclaimed the other. “I thought you dumb; well, tell us what 
has been the cause of your arrest.” 


BOUND FOR PARIS. 


301 


“Alas!” replied the old man. “It is ray sadness that has 
-ruined me. Like the citizen, I have been denounced and 
plunged into a dungeon, under the pretext that I appeared sad 
one day when the news of a victory arrived. And they are 
sending me to offer my head to Fouquier Tinville, who will 
take good care not to refuse it.” 

“It is your turn now, citizen,” said the fat man; addressing 
the stranger. “Inform us to what circumstance we owe the 
honor of your society.” 

The smoker withdrew his cigar from his mouth, and replied 
in the accents of a foreigner, — “I have been arrested in my 
quality of foreigner, and in consequence an enemy of the re- 
public.” 

“You are an Italian, I think?” 

“No, I am a Spaniard. The judge thought otherwise. They 
have sent me to Paris as an Englishman.” 

When once the conversation was opened, our jovial compan- 
ion would not let it languish. At night-fall we stopped to dine; 
in vain I several times addressed the woman who attended us ; 
she would not answer me. I remained therefore in complete 
ignorance of the place where we stopped. 

At the conclusion of our repast, the Spaniard having drawn 
from his pocket a small knife, one of the gendarmes rushed 
furiously upon him, snatched the knife from his hand, and gave 
him a violent blow with his fist in the face. The Spaniard 
sprung over his chair with a bound, and seizing a large jug, 
full of water, dashed it at his cowardly aggressor. Then took 
place one of those scenes of savage brutality which the pen can 
hardly describe. The gendarmes, to the number of at least 
ten, hurled themselves upon us like wild beasts, and trampled 
us under their feet. Exasperated by this treatment, I lesisted 
energetically, and only succumbed when overpowered ; but I 
paid very dear for my exploit. The brigadier who commanded 
our escort, gave orders to rivet the leg of the Spaniard and my 


302 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


own, to a crossbar shot of forty-eight pounds; our hands, bound 
•with a triple cord, were loaded with the weight of an enormous 
chain, which was also fastened round our bodies. These irons 
were so heavy, that if the carriage had overturned, our legs 
must have been broken in many places. 

During the hundred and twenty hours that we remained 
shut up in our rolling tomb, our cruel gaolers did not allow us 
to set foot on the ground. From time to time our companions 
looked through the joints of the shutters of our berlins, upon 
the highway. Each time they saw carriages, berlins like ours, 
or closed cabriolets, surrounded with gendarmes, and convey- 
ing prisoners to Paris. 

“ But what is the good of sending these innocent persons 
whom they want to destroy, so far ? ” said I ; “ would it not be 
more simple to detain them in the provincial prison ? ” 

“ Do n’t you see,” replied the gay criminal, “ that these con- 
voys of pretended conspirators enable the agents of the revo- 
lution to make a parade of their zeal? We are playing at this 
moment the theatrical, and are serving to get up a scene.” 

At length we arrived at the end of our journey ; our berlin, 
rolling over the pavement, informed us that we had entered 
Paris; a little after, it stopped, and one of the gendarmes 
opened the door. Before us we perceived black walls, and a 
guard-house tilled with soldiers. We were preparing to de- 
scend, when one of the gendarmes of our escort came out of 
the guard-house and addressing his companions, — “ Come, get 
on the road,” said he, “ they cannot receive the rascals here ; 
the Madelonettes overflow with prisoners ” 

Our berlin then went to another prison, where the same 
ceremony was repeated. They were full, and could not receive 
us. For two hours we thus in vain went to all the houses of 
detention in the capital, the Madelonettes, the Lazare, the 
Luxemburgh, the house of arrest of Port Libre, and le Plessis; 
at each they refused to admit us. 


THE JOURNEY. 


303 


“Postillions,” cried the commander of the escort, “take us 
to the Conciergery.” At this word of such bloody import we 
saw we were lost. All knew that the Conciergery was the 
ante-chamber of death. At the Conciergery, that vast tomb of 
the Danaides, they never refused prisoners, for each day, hour, 
and minute, the guillotine made voids in it, and left vacancies 
for others. 

It was not without trouble that they managed to get us out 
from the narrow stairs of the berlin. They threw the Span- 
iard and me, like a couple of bales of merchandise, into the en- 
trance in order to take off our irons. They laid us on our backs, 
and by means of a mallet, the turnkeys managed to detach the 
chain from the ball to which it was fixed. 

“ Come, get up ; do you not see we have done ? ” said at 
length one of the officers of the Conciergery. I tried to obey, 
but my body was so exhausted and stiffened, that in the at- 
tempt I fell heavily on the ground. Two gaolers, raising me 
brutally, placed me against a bench fastened to a wall, and be- 
gan the duty of searching me. 

I was so broken down, both morally and physically, by the 
indignities I had endured, that I passively submitted to this 
last humiliation. Scarcely did the cries of joy uttered by the 
gaolers, on finding in my pockets the ninety louis d ’ors which 

remained of the heritage of the unfortunate Count de L , 

awaken my attention. I had no longer strength to form an 
idea, and my sensations were so deadened that I comprehended 
but imperfectly what they were doing. 

I have not the slightest recollection of being conducted to 
my cell. After being separated from my companions, I re- 
member nothing, except it be the creaking of the keys in the 
locks, a confused noise of which produced a painful sensation 
at my heart. 

How long I remained in this lethargic grief I am equally 
unable to say. All that I know is, that my stomach already 
13 * 


304 


NOTES OP A VOLUNTEER. 


felt the pains of hunger, when I recovered my recollection and 
opened my eyes. For some minutes I could see nothing in the 
gloom which surrounded me. By degrees, however, my sight 
became habituated to the obscurity, and I began to distinguish, 
close at my side, a large and dark body, but was not aware of 
its nature. 

“ Is there any one here ? ” I exclaimed. 

“Certainly, comrade, there is,” replied a harsh voice; “we 
are three of us. t)o n’t you see us ? ” 

“Alas! I cannot raise my eyelids without an effort; they 
have tortured me most barbarously.” 

“Bah! It is nothing, we are used to these matters. You 
are not used to them. But tell us, comrade, what has occa- 
sioned us the honor of your company ? Are you a politician or 
a workman?” 

“ I do n’t understand you, citizen.” 

“And yet, the question is plain enough,” interrupted a' soft 
and clear voice which I had not heard before. “You were 
asked whether • you were arrested for a political offence, or 
some other thing.” 

“They arrested me on the charge of corresponding with 
aristocrats.” . 

“Yes, you have been entered in the gaoler’s book as a fed- 
eralist. They may either leave you to rot here for months, 01 
take you in a few days before the revolutionary tribunal, and 
then — one, — two, — three, — judged, condemned, and executed ; 
all over in four hours.” 

“You are doubtless a political victim, too?” said I. 

“Ia political victim ! ” replied he, bursting into a roar of 
laughter; “I am a club orator. I have harangued the people 
in the name of liberty, fraternity, and a crowd of things more 
than I can recollect, and they have carried me off in triumph. 
That was a good time ; I did a capital business, realized consid- 
erable sums, and led the life of a satrap.” 


MY COMPANIONS. 


305 


“But wlio are you, then?” resumed I, interrupting my com- 
panion. 

“Who am I? Parbleu, I am Pampin.” 

“Ah, are you Pampin?” said I, mechanically, and compre- 
hending nothing of the import of the communication. 

“The same, at your service, comrade,” he continued. “You 
see the chance which has brought you here, has not used you 
so badly ; if we remain together a fortnight, I will make you a 
remarkable man, a distinguished scholar.” 

“Citizen,” said I, “I see that you are not an ordinary char- 
acter ; but forgive my ignorance, for, coming from the frontier, 
and being only a poor provincial, I confess, in all humility, that 
until this day I have never heard your name spoken ; conse- 
quently I have no idea what you may be.” 

“What, really, don’t you know me?” exclaimed Pampin, 
with- the greatest astonishment; “I am Pampin the terrible 
assassin; Pampin the celebrated robber; Pampin who has 
never trembled before a gendarme; Pampin who has thrice 
submitted to the torture ; Pampin who will die, laughing in the 
face of the executioner! I hope you will not complain of the 
ambiguity of my discourse.” 

I confess that on hearing this reply, I felt a cold chill run 
through my frame. 

“ You won’t converse any more now,” resumed my terrible 
companion, after a moment’s silence ; “ your tongue is paralyzed 
by the horror I have inspired. But do you honestly think 
yourself in worse company with me, than if you had been shut 
up with political offenders ? Frankly, such is not my opinion. 
When I murder, I spring like a wild beast upon my prey. 
The tiger loves blood ; I love gold. I am no hypocrite ; I am 
violent, and destitute of pity, that’s all! I do not set up for a 
saint; what would be the use of it? I know myself to be a 
scoundrel unworthy of pity! And yet, frankly, with my hand 
upon my conscience, — for I have a conscience like other men, 


306 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


only I do not listen to it, — I believe without vanity, that I am 
less guilty than certain persons who surely do not inspire you 
with so much aversion as myself. Does not that appear very 
odd to you ? ” 

I was about to reply when I heard the locks of the cell door 
grate, and saw the turnkeys enter, bearing lighted torches, 
and each accompanied with an enormous bulldog. They came 
to bring us our pittance of food and make their inspection for 
the night. 

By the glaring light of their torches, I perceived the interior 
of our cell, and the countenances of my companions in mis- 
fortune. The cell, which might be # at most a dozen paces 
square, was hideously filthy. As to the physiognomies of my 
fellow prisoners, they differed greatly. Pampin exhibited one 
of those monstrous types of vice which are- rarely met with 
once in a life. About fifty years of age, this celebrated assassin 
was blind of one eye, and crippled, and his face frightfully 
scarred and wrinkled. His powerful chest, broad and thick 
shoulders, unusually long arms, as thick as the thighs of an 
ordinary man, all indicated his extraordinary strength. The 
seal of the homicide was stamped upon his whole person ; and 
one might have taken him for a ferocious monster of an un- 
known race. 

Crouched at the feet of Pampin, was a young lad, scarcely 
more than a child, whose fine features seemed clouded by 
deep^ melancholy. Absorbed in his reflections, he scarcely 
raised his eyes when the turnkeys entered our cell. 

Lastly, at a little distance, I perceived a third companion 
in captivity. Although his physiognomy was much less 
strongly marked than that of the terrible Pampin, it was still 
more repulsive, owing to the expression of base hypocrisy it 
reflected. 

The turnkeys, after having finished their examination, de- 
posited our repast, which consisted of a dish of questionable 


THE RUFFIAN P AMPIN. 


307 


meat, and a salad, the leaves of which were dry and faded. 
I had been fasting for forty hours, and was famishing; but 
the sight of the wretched food disgusted me. My repugnance 
did not escape the notice of Pampin. 

“ It strikes me, comrade,” said he, “ you have no great 
inclination for the banquet before you; but don’t distress 
yourself; we old prisoners possess certain little resources that 
the politicians are destitute of.” 

Scarcely had he spoken, when he struck a light, and soon 
after, a lamp, taken from some mysterious hole, which the 
gaolers failed to discover, was lighted and threw its rays 
upon us. 

“ Light ! ” exclaimed I, with the joy of a child. 

“ And a ham, too, and cold veal, and brandy,” added Pampin, 
placing them before him. “ Comrade,” continued the assassin 
professor, presenting me a knife, “ cut yourself a slice of ham, 
and take a draught from this bottle ; it will revive you.” 

I was too hungry to hesitate. I cut a piece of ham and 
bread, and drank from the bottle, which greatly refreshed me. 

“ Tell me,” said Pampin, “ how is it that you have no money 
about you; have you been visited?” 

“ I don’t know what you mean by that. If being trodden 
under foot, searched and plundered, be what you call visited, I 
certainly have.” 

“That’s the same; and have the turnkeys taken every 
thing?” 

“ All; about ninety louis d’ors that I possessed.” 

“ Ninety louis d’ors ! And have the citizens left you 
nothing?” 

“ Absolutely nothing.” 

“ They have abused your ignorance. To-morrow I will 
make them return a part of your money to you ; if you wish 
for forty louis, you have only to speak. Will you have them ? ” 

“ On what conditions ? ” I asked, mistrustfully. 


308 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ On the simple condition that you give a receipt for the 
sum they have deprived you of. I confess that this sacrifice 
at first appears very great, but if you reflect that without my 
interference they would return nothing at all, you will find a 
great advantage in it. What will you do ? ” 

“I accept with gratitude your offer of interference; you 
have only to name the sum you require for your assistance in 
this affair, and I will cheerfully pay it to you.” 

“ Comrade,” answered Pampin, with dignity, “ if you aud I 
were free, and I knew that you had ninety louis d’ors, I would 
so manage as not to leave you a single one, for I am not partial 
to shares ; but since we are both captives, occupying the same 
cell, your money is a sacred thing, and I would rather endure 
a thousand deaths, than rob you of a sous.” 

The next day, the gaoler with whom Pampin had negotiated 
on the subject of my ninety louis, reported the answer. They 
consented to return me forty louis, if I gave them a receipt for 
the whole. I was obliged to submit: however, Pampin stipu- 
lated that they should also allow me to write a letter, which 
they would put into the post. I therefore wrote an account 
of my arrest and misfortunes, and addressed it to my uncle the 
patriot, begging him to come to my assistance. 

Twelve days had passed since my arrest, when one morning 
one of our gaolers opened the door of our tomb, and called my 
name ; I started as if electrified, and in a bound, in spite of my 
weakness, I was on my feet. 

“ Where are you taking me to ? ” inquired I of the gaoler. 

“To the political section,” he replied. “Now as blessings 
never come singly, here are seventy-five livres, which I have 
orders to give you.” 

“Seventy-five livres for me, and to whom am I indebted for 
this money ? ” 

“It is all I have been able to save of the ninety louis they 
took from you on your arrival. My advice to you is, never to 


PHYSICAL SYMPATHY. 


309 


speak of that affair to any one, as it might compromise you as 
well as me, to whom you ought to be very grateful.” 

“Fear nothing,” I replied; “I promise you that I will say 
nothing about it.” 

“Here’s your room,” said he, pointing to a door studded 
with iron, and at the top of which was traced in black, No. 13 . 

“But the door appears half open,” replied I; “is that room 
inhabited by no other person ? ” 

“That chamber contains eighteen beds; the door is only shut 
at night, when the prisoners have retired.” 

“But can I mingle with those other prisoners?” I asked. 

“What is to hinder you?” said the gaoler, moving away. 

My first care on finding myself at liberty, was to enter the 
chamber. The beds, which folded up, and were placed at a 
short distance alongside each other, were separated by high 
boards, so that each occupant resembled a statue in a niche. 
However, in comparison with the mouldy and infested straw, 
which, since my arrival, had been my sole couch, they appeared 
to me luxurious. 

I had got to the extremity of the chamber, when I saw a 
man asleep on the last bedstead of the range. Looking down, I 
saw a quire of paper covered with fine and close writing, lying 
on the floor. I took the arm of the sleeper, and shook him 
briskly ; he opened his eyes : 

“What do you want? why do you disturb me?” said he, in 
an angry tone. 

“ I beg pardon, citizen,” replied I ; “ but there is at the foot 
of your bed, a quire of paper, written upon, which I think 
belongs to you.” 

“My history of the prison!” exclaimed he, springing up 
with a bound. “Faith, citizen, the least I can do, is to make 
my humble excuses for my incivility. Your foresight has saved 
my life; this manuscript contains the impartial recital of my 
captivity in the Conciergery. Now as I have been a prisoner 


310 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


fifteen months, I leave you to guess what frightful scenes I 
have witnessed and recorded. The service you rendered me 
is therefore substantial. My name is Riouffe ; will you be my 
friend ? ” The reader may guess wdiat was my reply. 

Citizen Riouffe, at this time, was about thirty years of age, 
of small stature but well-proportioned. His voice was sonorous 
and pleasant, his language full of imagery and energy. He 
read with exquisite taste, and possessed a perfect knowledge of 
the Latin, Greek, and English languages. 

“And you, citizen,” he asked, “ how long have you been in 
the Conciergery ? ” 

“About fifteen days.” 

“ I cannot conceive then why I have not had the pleasure of 
seeing you before.” 

“ There is nothing surprising in that. They had put me in 
the section of assassins, and I have scarcely been out of my 
cell an hour. May I ask you what was the cause of your 
arrest ? ” 

“Your question is rather embarrassing; although I have 
been nearly two years in prison, I am still ignorant of the real 
cause of my arrest. So far as I can suppose it, it would ap- 
pear that I am a conspirator. The fact is, it is not impossible 
that I may have evinced pity for the victims they sacrificed 
daily at Bordeaux, where I then lived. But I am are pub- 
lican.” 

“ Tell me, what is the general character of the prisoners in 
the Conciergery?” 

“With few exceptions, the Conciergery, during the fifteen 
months I have been in it, has received only patriots. Its vaults 
are stunned with the noise of the Marseillaise; and for men of 
the opposite casts whom they massacre, I have seen them cut 
the throats of a thousand sans-culottes, whom they drag to the 
butcheries to the cries of ‘ Vive les Sans-Culottes !’ You will 
be convinced hereafter, if you are spared, of the truth of what 


MADAME D- 


311 


I advance, by running over the list of the citizens judicially 
assassinated. 

“But I am going now to pay a visit to a young lady, as 
interesting as she is virtuous, and whose fate distresses me 
greatly, for she is to appear this morning before the revolution- 
ary tribunal. The prison of the women being separated from 
the men by a gVating, we can communicate with our poor un- 
fortunate companions, across the grating, or by the windows of 
two rooms on the ground floor, which overlook their court-yard.” 

Riouffe then rose, and we went out of the cell together, 
toward the lodgings of the women. “Do you know, my 
dear sir,” said he, “that I have known Fonfrede, Duclos, Gen- 
sonne, Vergniaud, Valaze, aud a host of other victims not less 
illustrious in this prison. I have seen them all file off before 
me to the scaffold. More recently, I have heard the roarings 
of that tiger with a human face, Dan ton, whom the fear which 
his audacity inspired exalted beyond measure. I will tell you 
his last words, and paint him to you just as he was. But 

time passes, and Madame D will have returned from the 

tribunal. Let’s hasten to the grating.” 

On arriving, we found many of- our companions collected in 
the avenues. Each sought for the look, or called for the voice 
of a loved friend; this for his sister, that for his daughter; 
some for their wives, others their betrothed. To my great 
astonishment, the prisoners of both sexes conversed with an 
entire freedom of mind, without betraying any signs of un- 
easiness or depression. 

My companion approached close to the grating, and after 
respectfully saluting several ladies of his acquaintance, he 

inquired if Madame D had not yet returned from the 

revolutionary tribunal, and was answered, “ No.” 

“ May I ask you,” said I, “ who is this person whose fate 
interests you so much? ” 

“ Certainly. Madame D is about seventeen years of 


312 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


age, and was sent some years ago to England to complete her 
education. Having been married last year, she was arrested 
about a month since, on making a journey to Paris with her 
father. They accuse her of having emigrated. And a hun- 
dred to one that she will be condemned to death.” 

At this instant, several persons called his name, to inform 

him of the arrival of Madame D , in whose fate he was so 

interested. I do not recollect ever having seen a more charm- 
in o* woman, or one whose least movements were attended with 
more grace, distinction, and modesty. 

“ I thank you much, my good Mons. Riouffe,” said she to 
my friend, “for the concern you have evinced this morning in 
asking news of me. I have not appeared as I expected before 
the revolutionary tribunal. They only took me before a judge 
of instruction, who has scarcely put any question to me of 
importance. I don’t know whether I amuse myself with a 
vain hope, but it appears to me by the polite and unusual 
manner in which he interrogated me, that I have been spe- 
cially recommended to him.” 

Riouffe was about to reply, when a degree of agitation, 
which took place amongst the prisoners, attracted our atten- 
tion. It was one of the functionaries of Conciergery, citizen 
Bertrand, who had made his entry into the part of the prison 
occupied by the women. His appearance, it was well known, 
generally announced a bloody catastrophe; consequently his 
visit caused the agitation. 

Citizen Bertrand, after a pause of minute, which appeared a 
long one to us, and having fully enjoyed the terror his presence 
inspired, deigned to explain himself. 

“I come to look for a citizen,” said he slowly, casting round 
him a glance which rested a moment on the countenance of 
each of the victims; “I come to look for a citizen! But, 
where is she ? I do not perceive her. Ah, I see her citizen 
I) ; I did not see you on coming in.” 


CITIZEN BERTRAND. 


313 


r “It is me, then, that you want, citizen Bertrand?” said 

^ Madame D , in a voice stifled by emotion. 

r “Yes, it is you I came to look for,” replied Bertrand, 
* harshly. “ Collect your effects, and make haste, for I am in a 
hurry.” 

1 “Where are you going to take me, citizen Bertrand?” de- 
’ manded the poor woman, now pale as death. 

“I shall answer you afterward. Come, come, make haste, 
the gendarmes have no time to wait.” 

“Oh, I am lost! Dear father, beloved husband, I shall 
, never see you again,” cried the poor creature. 

Bertrand turned toward the prisoners, who, sad and silent, 
waited the end of this scene. Raising his hand several times 
across his throat, and looking at the poor woman from the 
corner of his eye: “The little mother is pretty,” said he, ac- 
companying the words with the look of a satyr. 

“Adieu, companions of my sufferings. You, also, gentle- 
men, adieu,” said Madame D , turning toward our side. 

“Oh, do not fear that I shall disgrace you by my weakness; 
be assured that I shall know how to imitate the courage of the 
martyrs, our companions, who have gone before us, and await 
! us in heaven. Once more, adieu.” 

Several of the prisoners then embraced Madame D 

affectionately, but without displaying in the last adieus a 
shade of weakness. 

“A thousand pikes!” cried Bertrand, in a sharp voice. 
“This comedy has lasted quite long enough. Come, let’s be 
off ; the gendarmes are impatient.” 

“Adieu, Mons. Riouffe,” said Madame D , whilst Ber- 

trand dragged her off; “if ever you recover your liberty, tell 
my father and husband that my last thoughts will be for them. 
Adieu, once more.” 

“Farewell, madame,” replied my companion. “Pray for us 
who remain.” 


314 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


I expected that the departure of Madame D would 

have produced a deep impression upon her companions, but I 
was mistaken. Scarcely had the unhappy young woman 
crossed the threshold of the door, than the conversation re- 
sumed its course, as jf nothing had happened. 

“Do not let this indifference either astonish or displease 
you,” said Riouffe, guessing my thoughts ; “ it is natural, and 
you would be unjust toward us if you accused us of insensi- 
bility. What would you have ? If we were to give way to 
our feelings at the fate of every victim claimed by the scaffold, 
our days would be passed in despair and tears.” 

“How is that? I don’t understand you.” 

“Can’t you understand that when Bertrand came to look 
for Madame D — — , it was not to lead her to the tribunal, but 
to set her at liberty. The paper he carried in his hand was 
nothing less than the receipt of the jail book.” 

“Ah, the wretch!” exclaimed I, “and has he had the base- 
ness, when he held the pardon of that woman, to make her 
believe that she was going to die ? ” 

“Bertrand amuses himself every day with such legerde- 
main,” replied Riouffe; “it is his most agreeable pastime.” 

During our repast, I was struck with one thing, as a trait of 
character essentially French: it was the cheerfulness which 
fill exhibited. 

After dinner, I took Riouffe by the arm, and we walked 
together on the green. 

“Let us resume our conversation,” said I. “You cannot 
imagine how much it has interested me. Have you known 
Camille Desmoulins?” 

“Very little,” he replied; “but still, enough to form a de- 
cided opinion of him. Camille was never a true son of the 
revolution; his indecisive conduct occasioned a constant 
struggle between his levity and his virtue, and the latter, un- 
happily, has not always triumphed. Crushed by the irresistible 


CAMILLE DESMOULINS. 


315 


. domination of Robespierre, be suffered his dignity, as repre- 
sentative find citizen, to be disgraced by the cowardice with 
which he endured his outrages. He brought out his ‘Old 
Cordelier’ too late. He was no longer able to raise his indig- 
nation; and confirmed that sad truth, that one may be the 
most pitiable of men, although a keen writer; a pen in the 
hand of a pamphleteer is more frequently a tool he uses than 
the echo of his soul. It is impossible to give an idea of the 
levity of judgment which characterized him, and which dis- 
played itself in the most trivial actions. Such was his incon- 
sequence, that he could not see that his wife, who was 
denounced as a conspiratrice, was by that one fact irrevocably 
lost. On returning from the hearing at where he 'had been 
condemned, he said to one of his friends: ‘I am afraid they 
will arrest my wife.’ Happy want of foresight, which pre- 
vented him from carrying to the tomb the painful conviction of 
having caused the ruin of her who was most dear to him. On 
the whole, Canaille died with courage, and I like to believe 
that posterity will give him credit for having, in the midst of a 
deluge of blood, been the first to give the signal of clemency, 
and to stigmatize the ferocity of the executioners.” 

“And Danton, that giant of the revolution, have you seen 
him during his short stay in the Conciergery ? ” 

“Frequently. He was placed in a cell by the side of 
Westerman, and he never ceased talking, less to be heard by 
his companion in misfortune than by us. This terrible Danton, 
whose audacity knew no bounds; that insatiable cannibal, 
whose teeth has bitten deepest into the bowels of France, 
was, if I may be allowed the expression, quite out of coun- 
tenance with his ridiculous fall. If he had been struck by a 
thunderbolt, his forehead would have preserved something of 
his self- conceited arrogance; but the idea that he was over- 
turned by Robespierre, lowered hirp in his own estimation, and 
constrained him before us. He could not comprehend how a 


316 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


giant, such as he had been, could be outwitted by a pigmy. 
During his imprisonment, Danton, like a captive tiger, had, 
almost continually, his face at the bars of his cage. He at- 
tempted to sustain the semblance of a strong and indomitable 
mind. His phrases were interlarded with oaths or coarse ex- 
pressions. Here are some of his sentences, which I have in- 
serted in my manuscript. 

“ ‘ On such a day I instituted the revolutionary tribunal, but 
I beg pardon for it of God and man. It was not to be a 
scourge of humanity, but to prevent the renewal of the 
second of September.’ 

“ ‘ I leave everything in a frightful pickle. There is not one 
who understands how to govern. In the midst of so many 
phrenzies, I do not regret having signed my name to some 
decrees that will prove I did not share in them.’ 

“‘All my brother directors are Cains. Brissot would have 
guillotined me the same as Robespierre.’ 

“ ‘ I had a spy who never left me. I knew that I should be 
arrested.’ 

‘“What proves Robespierre to be a hero is, that he never 
spoke to Camille Desmoulins with so much friendship as on 
the night before his arrest.’ 

“‘In revolutions, the authority rests with the greatest 
rascals.’ 

‘“The d d brutes! they cried ‘Vive le Republique!’ 

on seeing me pass.’ 

“ Such,” said RioufFe, “ were some of the speeches of 
Danton, which I have written under what may be called his 
dictation. There is nothing particular in them, and I only 
offer them to you as an historical document. But let us pass 
to a less gloomy picture ; and since you are so eager for these 
melancholy details which passed yesterday, but which already . 
belong to history, follow me to that same grating which 
separates the men’s from the women’s department. Do you 


MADAME ROLAND. 


317 


see that young woman of a majestic beauty ? Her large, 
black eye sparkles with intelligence; her gesture is stamped 
with a theatrical character. Attentive to her least words, the 
men stand motionless, and ranged in a circle before the grate. 
It is the citizeness Madame Roland. Her discourse — for she 
does not converse — commonly treats on politics. 

“Madame Roland is partial to antithesis and effective words. 
She often wants simplicity, but never elevation and energy. 
I have always found that she reasoned too imaginatively, and 
that her imagination prevented her from reasoning. Common 
sense has a simplicity which displeases her. It may be seen, 
that she has studied Roman history without understanding it. 

“ Her courage is genuine ; but, perhaps, she is too fond of dis- 
playing it. I have never seen any other woman in the Conci- 
ergery who has so coquetted with the guillotine. One day, the 
femme-de-chambre who serves her, said to me in confidence : 
‘Before you madame collects all her powers, but in her room 
she remains sometimes three hours leaning upon the window 
weeping/ ” 

I was going to make some observations to Riouffe, when a 
turnkey, calling my name in the corridor, arrested the words 
on my lips. On answering the call, he remitted to me a letter 
from my uncle, the patriot My uncle informed me that he 
was actively engaged in obtaining my liberation, and he hoped, 
knowing mv ardent sans-culottism, that I should very soon 
return to my family. He concluded his letter by giving me 
to understand that he was using all his efforts to obtain my 
translation to another prison. 

This letter produced an extraordinary excitement in my 
mind. I cannot express the joy I felt, on thinking that I was 
not abandoned by everybody, that I had friends who loved 
and interested themselves about me. 

The fourteenth day after my entry into the Conciergery 
political section, I was engaged in making some notes of my 


318 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


captivity, when they came to give me notice that I must pre- 
pare to set out. In vain I questioned the gaoler; he was 
inflexible, and maintained an obstinate silence. 

My bundle being put up, which was soon done, I went to 
take leave of Riouffe. 

“I guess the cause of our separation,” said he; “it is your 
uncle who has doubtless demanded and obtained your removal 
to another prison. May God protect you, we shall perhaps 
meet again in better times.” 

The carriage, in which I was conveyed, stopped at the door 
of the Abbaye." I was horrified at the sight of those sombre 
walls, which were ^till stained with the blood of the victims of j 
the second and third of September. My reception was no 
better than I expected. I passed an inspection as complete as 
it was humiliating, but they left me the small sum of money 
which remained. ! 

“ Come, follow us, bandit ! ” said one of the gaolers, seizing | 
me roughly by the collar. “ I shall know how to make you 
pay dear for your treason ; you shall see.” 

The fellow was so intoxicated, that I judged it most prudent 
to put up with this insult without reply. The dungeon into 
which he thrust me, was little better than that I occupied at 
first in the Conciergery, except that it was lighter, and it was 
possible, by approaching the window, to read writing. The 
furniture consisted only of a worm-eaten table, disgustingly ; 
dirty, a heap of broken straw, and a miserable truckle bed. 1 
When at night I lay down, overcome by fatigue and distress 
of mind, my body was instantly attacked with myriads of ver- 
min, which soon produced the effect of a single wound, cover- I 
ing my whole frame. Never was a captive subjected to 
greater torment by the inquisition, than I suffered on that 
dreadful night. 

Four and twenty hours was I left in this horrible place 
before any one approached. At last I heard the barking of 


I AM ATTACKED BY FEVER. 


319 


dogs in the distance, then the march of a company of troops, 
and, at length, I saw a turnkey enter. 

“ Hold ! traitor to your country ! ” said he ; “ here ’s a pitcher 
of water to drink the health of the foreign satellites, and a 
piece of bread ; it is much better than you deserve.” 

“Could you not procure me a chair?” cried I, eagerly, 
seeing the turnkey about to leave. 

“ A chair!” he exclaimed, bursting into a laugh; “excuse 
me, sir, you are an aristocrat. Why not ask, by the same rule, 
a fateuil covered with velvet, and silk curtains ? ” 

With this polite reply, the gaoler shut the door violently, 
and left me again alone. As soon as he was gone, having 
eaten nothing during the time I had been there, I examined 
the bread and water he had brought. Famishing as I was, I 
could not touch it; as to the water, it stank; I took one 
draught, but so fetid and filthy was it, that I spit it out again, 
and in a fury threw the pitcher against the wall, and then 
attempted to sleep. 

I was so exhausted and broken down, that in spite of the 
vermin which devoured me alive, I obtained some hours of 
repose ; but, as soon as it was dark, the rats, which had found 
me out the evening before, returned in redoubled numbers, 
and kept me continually on my guard, and I walked about the 
j cell the greater part of the night. The consequence of these 
1 annoyances was, that I was attacked with a violent fever, ac- 
companied by delirium, which, for a while, rendered me insen- 
sible to my sufferings. 

In this state I remained until the next day, when, having 
j recovered my reason, my first wish was for the presence of 
the turnkey ; for even his brutality would have been a relief 
"'from the utter isolation in which I found myself. He, how- 
ever, did not come, and the idea occurred to me that they had 
resolved to let me die of hunger. 

This thought so rapidly gained ground in my mind,- that I 
° 14 


320 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


was soon fully convinced that I was enclosed in an “ in pace,” 
or an “oubliette.” Furious at this idea, I uttered piercing 
cries, calling for help. I hoped by this means to rouse my 
companions in misfortune, and induce them to attempt to re- 
lieve me. Alas ! my cries, absorbed by the massy walls of 
the vault, soon ceased, and I fell insensible on the floor. 

I was aroused the next day by a violent shake, and the first 
object I perceived on opening my eyes, was the ferocious 
countenance of my gaoler. 

“Well,” said he, “it appears the cookery of the Abbaye is 
not much to your taste ; you have not touched your provisions.” 

“ My friend,” replied I, looking at the turnkey with earnest- 
ness, “if you were now to offer me a sumptuous dinner I | 

could not touch it; I ask only one thing, that you will bring 

me some water and not leave me; I would not die alone and j 
abandoned. Oh ! remain, I beg of you ! ” 

My request seeriTed to make some impression on the iron 
heart of the turnkey. “ Come, comrade,” replied he, “ you 

must not let your spirits sink for so little a matter; as to ; 

keeping you company — ” 

“I don’t ask you to keep me company,” said T, interrupting I 
him; “but I do ask, at least, that you will not again leave me * 
tvv r o days and nights without coming to see me.” 

“ Do you mean to say, comrade, that you were not visited I 
yesterday ? ” 

“I have been alone for forty-eight hours.” 

“Ah, I see. We have every decade a holiday, and my 
substitute must have forgotten that I was gone out. Well, I 
will make you amends for his negligence by a double ration, ij 
I’ll go and clean the pitcher, and fill it with fresh water.” 

In a few minutes he returned with the water; I eagerly ; 
snatched the pitcher, and drank without taking breath. Hav- \ 
ing quenched my thirst, I felt a great relief, and recovered a 
portion of my strength. 


I ATTACK THE TURNKEY. 


321 


To-morrow,” said the gaoler, going toward the door; 
‘‘don’t be impatient; I will endeavor to be more punctual.” 

In a phrenzy, I rose, and seizing the pitcher, flung myself 
between the turnkey and the door; “If you don’t take me 
with you I ’ll kill you,” cried I, grinding my teeth. 

In a fury he flung at my face the enormous bunch of keys 
which he carried in his hand. The mass of iron slightly 
grazed me in passing, and rebounded against the cell door. 

In spite of my weakness, and with an energy superinduced 
by fever, I rushed upon the turnkey, brandishipg my pitcher. 
The wretch did not expect to find this energy in me; discon- 
certed and trembling, he had only time to throw himself on 
his knees. At this cowardice my anger abated. “I will grant 
you your life,” said I, “but on one condition — that you allow me 
to leave this dungeon, and take me to the common prison.” 

“I promise it,” said he. “Walk on, and I ’ll follow you.” 

What was my delight when, after passing through a long 
corridor, I found myself in the midst of a crowd of prisoners. 
My appearance, so unexpected, produced the greatest aston- 
ishment ; questions were rained upon me on all sides, but, alas ! 
my rage, and consequently the strength which had still sus- 
tained me, then vanished, and unable to pronounce a word, I 
fell senseless at full length upon the floor. 

When I recovered my senses, and cast my eyes round, I saw 
that I was in a parlor fantastically furnished. Seated before a 
table was a large man, whose ruddy countenance and dull look 
did not indicate temperance. He held in his hand a glass of 
Bohemian crystal,' half filled with wine, in which he dipped a 
biscuit. 

“ Where am I ? ” exclaimed I, endeavoring to summon my 
recollection. 

“With a good patriot,” replied the stout man. “But, tell 
me, citizen, it appears that you wanted to assassinate one of 
my turnkeys ? idem ! Hem ! Do you really believe that the 


322 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


republic maintains turnkeys only to afford amusement to the 
prisoners ? ” 

“ Before answering your question,” said I, “ I beg to know 
who you are ? ” 

“Who I am!” repeated he, laughing; “I am the concierge, 
registrar, magistrate, everything here.” 

“Then,” replied I, “I give you notice that T will not return 
to my dungeon.” 

“Ah, bah ! Do you believe so ? And what will you do to 
avoid returning to your dungeon?” 

“I will make them kill me, by resisting.” 

“I like to hear you speak so,” said the concierge, filling his 
glass ; “ that shows me you are a good fellow. What is it that 
you want?” 

“ I want bread that I can eat, and water that I can drink, 
and I will not allow myself to be thrown amongst vermin.” 

“You are very exacting, but all may be arranged. Listen; 
I have a good cook in my kitchen, and my house contains all 
you can wish for; have you any money ? That ’s the question.” 

“ I have got five or six crowns,” replied I, hanging my head. 

“And can you not procure any from your family?” 

“ My uncle, who is an intimate friend of Robespierre, is now 
in Paris. If you will allow me to write to him, it is possible 
that he will supply me with funds.” 

“So your uncle is the friend of the great Robespierre,” 
repeated the concierge, with a thoughtful look, “But, by-the- 
by, who do you call yourself ? ” 

I told him my name and family. 

“ Stop there ! ” cried he, interrupting me : “ It appears to me 
that your name is familiar to me; yes, they have mentioned 
you quite recently. Now, whether it was to recommend you 
to my severity or lenity, I cannot remember; I have so much 
to do.” 

He poured out a third glass of wine, then rang a small bell 


TETE A TETE WITH THE GOVERNOR. 


323 


placed at his side on the table, and almost immediately a turn- 
key, whom I had not before seen, entered the parlor. 

“Tell me, Isidore,” said the concierge, “have I not received 
a recommendation or a letter for the prisoner in cell No. 17, 
here present?” 

“A letter and a packet,” replied Isidore. 

“A packet!” exclaimed the concierge. “And what did it 
contain ? ” 

“Twenty-five louis in gold,” replied Isidore, laconically. 

“So,” said the concierge, “here you are with a capital of 
twenty-five louis ; give me a receipt for that sum, which I will 
now pay you. If you agree to pay six livres a day, I engage 
to furnish you with wholesome food; will these terms suit 
you?” 

“Certainly,” I replied. 

“Well, then, sign this receipt.” 

“ Here ’s the sum that belongs to you, less a hundred and 
eighty livres, which I keep back for your first month’s board,” 

; said he, counting the money. “Now, they are going to serve 
dinner ; whilst you are at dinner they shall clean out your cell. 
Au re voir.” 

I wished to rise, but could not. The gaoler Isidore, seeing my 
embarrassment, took me upon his back, without saying a word, 
and carried me to the refectory. I was here supplied with a 
bottle of excellent wine, a plate of meat, a herring, and white 
bread. 

It may be supposed, that after fasting so long, I was quite 
ready for this excellent repast. The wine, however, took effect 
upon my head, and by the time the bottle was empty, I had 
quite forgotten all my ills. The turnkey who attended me 
was the most amiable of men, and Isidore, who never spoke a 
word, I declared to be an uncommonly clever fellow. 

On returning to my cell, I found that the turnkey had cer- 
tainly made a great improvement. I was so overcome with 


324 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


the wine and fatigue, that I threw myself on the truckle-bed, 
and fell fast asleep; nor did I awake until the next afternoon, 
having slept twenty hours. 

It would be tedious to the reader to give a detail of all my 
sufferings and adventures during the months I remained at the 
Abbaye. Unfortunately, I fell sick, and was taken to the 
hospital, where the most frightful scenes were enacted. The 
brutal -surgeon neglected the patients, and, in fact, hastened 
their passage to the tomb. By accident I escaped the fate of 
many of my companions, and was removed to another depart- 
ment of the hospital, where, under the care of a humane sur- 
geon, I grew better 

During my convalescence, I was removed to the prison of 
Aveche, where I was beginning to recover my strength, when 
one afternoon they came to take me before the judge. 

After waiting an hour I was introduced to the cabinet of 
the judge, who, seated before a table, covered with papers, and 
a bottle of brandy, half empty, before him, began my examina- 
tion, without taking the trouble even of looking at me. 

“You are accused,” said he, “of having furnished to your 
son and grandson, money to enable them to emigrate. The 
proofs of your crime are in my hands, and it is useless for you 
to attempt to deny it.” 

So saying, the judge took a draught of brandy, and nodding 
his head to a man seated at a small table near his desk: 
“Registrar,” said he, “ write that the accused confesses his crime, 
and throws himself upon the mercy of the court.” 

“But I confess nothing at all,” exclaimed I, seizing the arm 
of the registrar, who was about to obey the order. 

“Ah! you retract now,” resumed the judge; “it is too late” 

“Allow me,” cried I, “I do not retract, on the contrary, I 
ask to make a fresh confession.” 

“ That ’s a different matter, speak.” 

“I have to confess,” resumed I, “first, that I am not married, 


EXAMINED BY THE JUDGE. 


325 


and have never had any children. Secondly, that, being only 
twenty-six years old — ” 

“What! only twenty-six years old?” exclaimed the judge, 
looking at me for the first time; “but your accusation says 
sixty-six. The fact is,” continued he, “you really don’t look 
so old! Still, is not your name Mareil?” 

“ No, citizen judge.” 

“May the devil confound the fools that brought you here! 
But it do n’t signify ; tell me the cause of your arrest. We 
| shall be so much forwarder, and I will send you afterward to 
the tribunal.” 

The danger was imminent. A moment’s hesitation, and I 
was lost I took my resolution instantly. 

“Citizen judge,” said I, “I am an officer of the corps 
d’armie which is now acting in Piedmont." I was returning to 
pass some time with my family, in order to establish my health, 
when I was denounced by a rascal jealous of my happiness.” 

“Jealous of your happiness! how is that?” 

“Yes, I was the lover of a delightful creature, as any in the 
world. But I dare not enter into the details of this love story, 
fearing to offend your dignity. Altogether it is a curious 
history.” 

“My duty is to hear everything,” replied he. “Speak with- 
out fear, and do n’t omit a single detail.” 

The judge then swallowed some fresh draughts of brandy, 
flung himself back in his arm-chair, crossed his hands over his 
chest, and motioned me to speak. ' 

I must confess to the reader, that at the. moment, the 
instinct of self-preservation predominated over my dignity, and 
I had recourse to a trick, not very noble or courageous. I 
related to the judge a horribly scandalous history which I had 
heard from my ex-companion Pampin. I stopped two or three 
times, apologising for my prolixity ; but each time he ordered 
me, with an imperious voice, to go on, and not omit a single 


326 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


particular. I found that I had gained my point, and had man- 
aged to interest him. In fact, this man, who had remained 
insensible to the most evident expression of the truth, to the 
supplications of a wife, the tears of a mother, yielded to the 
pleasure my recital produced. Several times he could not 
restrain a loud burst of laughter, accompanied with singular 
comments. 

“Truly, citizen,” said he, when I had finished speaking, 
“you seem to me a jolly fellow, and an excellent patriot, and I 
hope your imprisonment will not be of long duration. Have 
you any friends who are interested in setting you at liberty ? ” 

“I have an uncle, a friend of Robespierre, who has charged 
himself with raising the indictment.” 

“Then, you may consider yourself clear of the business. 
Farewell, and a happy chance for you. I hope you will come 
and see me when you are once out of prison.” . 

At my request, this judge directed the registrar to make out 
the order for my removal to St. Lazare, and I set off to my 
new destination. When I arrived, I went to the office to give 
in my name. 

“Have you any money?” asked the concierge, abruptly. 

“A few crowms, which I had at the hospital, but I hope to 
receive more here in a few days.” 

“That’s well! We will tax you afterward.” 

What was my surprise and joy, to find my old friend, 
Anselme, in the Lazare. The pleasure was reciprocal, and was 
enhanced by his saving me from the brutal usage of one of the 
turnkeys, who certainly would have strangled me, but for my 
friend. 

We lived several months in that prison, expecting daily to be 
called upon to appear before the revolutionary tribunal, and 
afterward guillotined. Anselme had concocted a plan of escape, 
which would probably have succeeded, had it not been dis- 
covered by two of the prisoners, known to be spies. One of 


ANSELME AGAIN. 


327 


these was an Italian, named Manini, and the_other a sub-agent, 
of the name of Jobert. 

We were denounced by these miscreants at the commence- 
ment of Thermidor, and momentarily looked for the order to 
appear before Fouquier Tinville, and Anselme had sworn that 
before he died he would strangle Manini. 

^ We passed an anxious time, for we hourly expected to be 
amongst the number of those whom we daily saw carried off 
to the guillotine. Nearly every day, from fifteen to twenty of 
our unfortunate companions disappeared forever from our eyes; 
but the new arrivals were so numerous, that the prison was 
constantly full. 

On the 9 th Thermidor, at the instant in which they were 
about to shut us up in our chambers, the turnkey, Leduc, came 
up to me with a mysterious air, and dropping his voice, said : 

“Be prudent, I have good news to tell you; Robespierre is 
not, perhaps, still alive.” 

Saying this, Leduc left me hastily, and without giving me 
an opportunity of questioning him. I immediately communi- 
cated this incident to Anselme. 

“Provided I can manage to wring Manini’s neck, that’s all I 
care about,” he replied, with his usual stoicism; “the rest 
signifies little to me.” 

Presently w r e heard the drums beat the generale and the 
rappel; a little after, the turnkeys shut the intermediate wickets 
of the corridors. It was evident that an important event had 
occurred. 

The anguish and uncertainty of our situation during that 
night, was beyond expression, and drove sleep from our eyes. 
Are they about to massacre or to free us? We had no longer 
even the courage to communicate our conjectures to each 
Other. 

The next morning, some new prisoners informed us of the 
defeat of Robespierre and the municipality. This was con- 
14* 


328 


NOTES OE A VOLUNTEER. 


sidered by us so happy an event, that we refused to believe it. 
At length, about noon, the fall of Robespierre was announced 
to us in a manner so positive and almost official, that we could 
no longer entertain a doubt of our happiness. 

Then arose cries, tears, transports of inexpressible joy; we 
rushed into each other’s arms, and exchanged the endearing 
name of brothers; in short, we were intoxicated with happiness. 

One man alone, perhaps, amongst us, preserved his presence 
of mind; it was Anselme, and the only reflection he permitted 
himself to make, was : “ That knave, Manini, has now a chance 
of his life.” 

I shall pass rapidly over the steps taken by Anselme, who 
was liberated before me, to obtain my departure from St. 
Lazare. I was ultimately allowed to leave the prison ; but on 
condition that I would at once return to the army. 

I was so happy to be able, at last, to live the life of every- 
body else that I did not dream of complaining at being again 
sent to serve under the flag of France. I passed my days with 
Anselme, and as I had received money from home, I made him 
dine twice a day. 

“My friend,” said he, one night, on leaving the table, “I 
lead a life worthy of a fat hog, and it cannot last ; I am going 
to bid you farewell.” 

“ Going ? and where to ? ” I cried. 

“I am going to Vendee,” answered he; “you ought to 
remember, that that idea has haunted me for a long while. 
However, I will not say adieu ; for I know we shall see each 
other again.” 

In spite of the regret which the departure of Anselme 
caused me, I still could not help laughing at his faith in our 
re-union in Vendee. Strange! fifteen days after, the battalion 
into which I had been incorporated in the grade of adjutant, 
was destined to set out for La Vendee, and the singular 
prediction of Anselme w&s realized. 


THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 329 

I shall pass over my journey from Paris to Nantes with the 
remark, that the fall of Robespierre, although it was quite 
recent, had already produced an excellent effect in the pro- 
vinces. The most timid people began to express their indig- 
7 nation, — too long withheld by fear, — and to curse the monsters 
who for two years had deluged France with blood. 

It was not till I arrived at Tours, that I obtained details of 
the events which were then passing on the two sides of the 
Loire. The rapidity with which I had traveled since my de- 
parture from Paris, having placed me in advance in the stages 
marked out in my passport, I resolved to remain two or three 
days at Tours ; I therefore engaged a room at the hotel of the 
“ Chariot d’ Or” 

The day after my arrival I made the acquaintance, at the 
Table d’Hote, of a young officer, who, like myself, was on his 
route to the army of the west. This officer, however, had the 
advantage of me, in having a perfect knowledge of Vendee, 
where he had already fought. From him I obtained some 
valuable information on the subject of the war, and a detailed 
account of the character and conduct of the rebel chiefs and 
their armies. 

Four days afterward, I arrived, toward the middle of the 
day, at Nantes. My first care was to repair to the general 
officer of the place, to present my passport, and to ask a billet. 
The commissary of war declared to me, that Nantes, a short 
time before, had ceased to form a rendezvous for part of the 
army of the west, and that he must sign my passport for the 
camp at Roulliere. 

The next morning at daybreak I was on the march, with a 
corps of the Nantese National Guards, for my new destination. 

The camp of Roulliere was situated between Le Lognin and 
La Seine Nantaise, and crossed the road to Mantaign. This 
camp, which occupies a space of about a league, was at nearly 
double that distance from Nantes. - The spectacle, when I 


330 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


arrived, was singular and picturesque. Barracks of all sizes rose 
on every side, without order or system. In the midst of these 
barracks, which reminded me of the trestle stalls of a fair, I 
perceived a ragged crowd of soldiers, of whom, some were 
walking with women, whilst others were occupied in cooking 
their repast. The first impression produced on me by this sight 
of my companions in arms, was not very favorable to them. 
They had more the appearance of bandits than soldiers. 

“Captain,” said I, saluting an officer, “will you be good 
enough to point out to me where I can find the colonel of the 
camp ? ” 

“Do you belong to us?” he asked, twisting his moustache. 

“Yes, captain; here is my passport.” 

“Let’s see,” said he. “Hold, you form part of my com- 
pany ! Have you already been engaged ? ” 

“Certainly, captain, I have made war on the frontier.” 

“Ah ! so much the better ! I shall have at least one man 
in my company on whom I can depend.” 

“ How is that, captain ? Are the republican troops then so 
unwarlike, that they dare not sustain the shock of peasants, 
ignorant of the art of war, and badly armed ? ” 

“The republican troops are the best in the world,” he 
replied, “but the forced volunteers whom I command, are not 
soldiers, the greater part being fathers of families, who have 
engaged themselves only for a limited time : if it had depended 
on me, I should long ago have got rid of ali of them.” 

Whilst the captain was speaking, I examined him with a 
curiosity of which he certainly was worthy. Imagine a face 
slashed across by two enormous sabre-cuts, lean, yellow, bony, 
two-thirds covered with his moustaches, and sustained by a 
neck, long and fleshless beyond measure. The rest of his body, 
in perfect harmony with his head, presented a skeleton bare- 
ness. Still, one might see that he was endowed with extraor- 
dinary muscular force. As to his toilette, I give up making a 


THE REPUBLICAN CAMP. 


331 


description of it. Setting aside his epaulet, which proclaimed 
his rank, there was nothing else but rags. 

“Adjutant,” said he, pointing to a barrack, “there ’s the 
colonel. When your passport is vised, if you will come and 
drink a bottle of wine with me, you will do me a pleasure. If 
you do n’t find me, — for I have still a cruise to make, — you 
must tell my sentry to call me.” 

“I accept your invitation with gratitude, captain; may I ask 
your name?” 

“They call me Cherche-a-Manger, and every body knows 
me,” he replied, turning his back, and going off at a great rate. 

I was proceeding toward the barrack of the colonel of the 
camp, when I came upon an old sergeant, who was cooking a 
magnificent leg of mutton, spitted with a sabre, and upheld by 
four sticks fixed crosswise in the ground. 

“Sergeant,” said I, “do you know Captain Cherche-a- 
Manger ? ” 

“Parbleu! I believe so,” answered he. “Who is there that 
does not know Cherche-a-Manger?” 

“But, pray, sergeant, inform me whether the words ‘Cher- 
che-a-Manger’ represent, as I suppose, a soubriquet, or a 
proper name ? ” 

“ I believe it to be a nom-de-guerre, for the captain is the 
roughest eater in the world. He would make only a mouth- 
ful of this fine leg of mutton you see here. But he is a jolly 
fellow, and a famous officer. He has killed more brigands than 
there are hairs on his head ! He commands the volunteers of 
the camp of Roulliere.” 

“Are these volunteers numerous ? ” 

“About two hundred. If you form part of this corps, allow 
me to condole with you.” 

“Are they then bad soldiers?” 

“They! they are not soldiers at all.” 

“ What are they, then ? ” 


332 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Inconsolable husbands, who weep when they think of their 
better halves ; calico merchants, or spicers, who sigh after their 
counters ; raw boys, scarcely out of school — whatever you like, 
in fact, except soldiers. I do n’t know what the representatives 
of the people can be thinking of in encumbering us with all 
these blockheads, who consume a fourth of our provisions. If 
there were not in the camp six hundred and odd men of the 
line, it would be in the power of the brigands before eight and 
forty hours.” 

I left the sergeant cook, (who, be it said, en passant , did not 
appear to me to have much respect for the military hierarchy,) 
and went to the colonel, by whom my passport was vised and 
my arrival verified. 

Free from all care, I then thought of rejoining captain 
Cherche-a-Manger, who was upon the threshold of his cabin 
when I arrived. He hastened to meet me, and seizing my arm, 
said, “Come, my lambkin, make haste, I breakfasted more 
than two hours ago, and am dying of hunger.” 

Five minutes had hardly passed, when I was seated before 
a table covered with enormous slices of cold meat, hams, and 
several bottles of wine. 

The extraordinary facility with which the captain soon des- 
patched a considerable part of the meats and drinks placed on 
the table, reminded me of my poor friend Anselme, and drew 
from me a sigh of regret. 

“Well, adjutant,” said Cherche-a-Manger, when his voracity 
was a little subdued, “what do you think of the camp ordi- 
nary?” 

“ If this profusion of dishes and bottles constitutes your 
ordinary, I must confess it is worthy of a Gargantia.” 

“The fact is, it would be unjust in us to complain. Thanks 
to the brigands, we swim in abundance.” 

“ How is that, thanks to the brigands ? Is it the Vendeans 
who provide, with so much generosity, for your wants?” 


CHERCHE-A-MANGER. 


333 


“Yes, adjutant, themselves; we take from them all that they 
possess. That’s the reason abundance reigns here; you can- 
not imagine what magnificent hits certain of our comrades have 
made in the farms. The brigands have a habit of hiding their 
money in the earth, and when we fall upon one of these nests, 
I promise you we lose no time. The camp of RouTliere con- 
tains a great deal of money.” 

“ Captain,” said I, as I was about to go away, “ I would fain 
know how you came by the name of Cherche-a-Manger ?” 

“Because whenever I am appointed to the command of an 
expedition, I say to the men in order to excite their enthu- 
siasm: ‘My friends, come, cherche-a-manger.’ I am now so 
habituated to my soubriquet, that I have nearly forgotten my 
true name; our generals always mention me in their reports 
as Captain Cherche-a-Manger, and the paymaster would refuse 
to remit me my salary, if I signed my receipt otherwise.” 

On leaving this singular personage, I learned' that General 
Yimieux, the commander-in-chief, had been superseded by 
General Alexander Dumas. One officer, -who had served under 
the orders of this latter, and who knew him personally, deliv- 
ered a pompous panegyric in his behalf. 

It was on the 17th of September, that General Dumas 
arrived in the west, to supersede, as the commander-in-chief, 
his colleague Vimieux, deposed the 7th of August. 

I must now go back some days in my narrative, for when I 
made the acquaintance of captain Cherche-a-Manger, it was 
the 2d of September, and from that date to the 1 7 th, I was 
compelled to be a witness of a serious affair, which certainly 
deserves to be related. 

We had reached the 8th of September, and during the week 
that I had been at the camp of Roulliere, I had began to get 
accustomed to my military life. With recruits to instruct, pa- 
trols to make in the interior of the camp, conversations arising 
from anecdotes of Captain Cherche-a-Manger, and, lastly, some 


334 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


mad pranks at Nantes, which I perpetrated incognito, I filled 
up my time in a very agreeable manner. 

From time to time there was a good deal of talk of Charette, 
but they represented him always either as on the eve of being 
taken prisoner, or as operating at a great distance from our 
camp. The name of the terrible general which, during the first 
nights of my arrival, had disturbed my sleep, after a week no 
longer caused me any emotion. I even began to be convinced 
that this Charette, so formidable and so much dreaded, owed 
his high reputation only to the intentional exaggeration of the 
generals sent in pursuit of him. 

On the 8th of September, toward four o’clock in the after- 
noon, I rose from table, and proposed to Cherche-a-Manger a 
walk through the camp, which he agreed to. 

“ I will wager, my friend,” said he, passing his dry and nerv- 
ous arm through mine, “that if they were to ask you at this 
moment to make an expedition into the interior of this country ; 
to go, for instance, from hence to Fontenay, you would accept 
it without hesitation.”' 

“The fact is,” I replied, “that my inaction begins to be dis- 
agreeable to me; I shall not be sorry to see these Vendeans 
who are represented to me in so terrible a light, but who never 
show themselves.” 

Cherche-a-Manger shook his head. 

“What!” I continued, nettled by this tacit expression of 
doubt, “would you also insinuate that the brigands are equal 
to their reputation! I assure you that in proportion to my 
former credulity, I have now become sceptical.” 

“Wait at least till you find yourself face to face, and in line 
with the brigands; nobody detests these madmen more than 
myself, or experiences the pleasure that I feel, in hacking them 
with my sabre; but my hatred does not prevent me from 
acknowledging that they fight most admirably.” 

“Bah! these are your exaggerations, captain,” I cried. “It 


THE BRIGANDS. 


335 


is plain that you would Lighten your own glory by exalting 
the courage of your enemies.” 

Seeing that he did not reply, I turned toward him. With 
his neck and ears stretched out, and his eyes wide open, the 
captain seemed to be exploring the horizon with perplexed at- 
tention. “Do you not perceive before us, at the extreme limits 
the eye can reach, something like a cloud of dust?” he asked 
hastily. 

“ Yes, you are right,” I answered, after looking in the direc- 
tion he pointed out. “Do the brigands, then, wish to give the 
lie to the bad opinion I have broached respecting them ? ” 

“ Come,” said he, without answering my question, and re- 
doubling his pace, “that dust which indicates the approach of a 
corps of cavalry, is so much the more perplexing, that we do 
not expect any reinforcement to-day.” 

“Bah! it is a detachment of the Nantois garrison, who are 
coming to look for wheat,” I replied. 

“This is possible! Never mind, let us advance.” 

On arriving ten minutes after, we found to the right of the 
camp, a detachment of a batallion of reserve. Cherche-a-Manger 
ran toward a lieutenant, who with a pipe in his mouth, and his 
arms crossed . behind his back, walked philosophically in front 
of his troops. 

“Lieutenant,” said he, hastily, “where is your commander?” 

“At Nantes, captain, with the colonel.” 

“Are you the only officer here ? ” 

“The only one, captain’; but I am not the more occupied 
for that. What is the use of these questions, pray ? ” 

“ What ’s the number of men that can be disposed of at this 
moment ? ” resumed Cherche-a-Manger, with increasing eager- 
ness, and without replying to the lieutenant. 

“One hundred and twelve men, captain.” 

“Very good. Make haste and get them under arms.” 

From the manner in which Cherche-a-Manger spoke, the 


336 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


officer saw that he must at once obey, and he hastened to cause 
the movement to be executed. In less than five minutes the 
hundred and twelve men were formed in perfect order, pre- 
senting a line of bristling bayonets. The cloud of dust in- 
creased more and more in density. 

Cherche-a-Manger then began to explain to the lieutenant 
the subject of his fears, but at the first words he spoke, the 
lieutenant interrupted him smiling, and said, in a voice in which 
I perceived an un voluntary shade of raillery ; “ I am astonished, 
captain, that you should allow yourself to be made thus uneasy. 
That is the expeditionary column which was expected to-day 
from Montaign.” 

“And why did you not say that at once ? In fact, I perceive 
the uniform of the hussars.” And, at about five hundred 
paces from the camp, we saw a detachment of republican 
hussars, advancing at a short trot. 

“Let us continue our walk,”- said Cherche-a-Manger, abruptly, 
ashamed of his mistake. 

“ You see, captain, that you do too much honor to the brigands, 
in imputing to them the boldness of attacking us in open day,” 
I replied. 

Cherche-a-Manger made me no answer, but he quickened his 
pace toward the side opposite to that by which the hussars were 
advancing, probably, to avoid coming further into contact with 
the republican detachment, which had so grossly misled him. 
Scarcely had we gone a hundred paces, when sharp cries of 
distress and grief -made us turn our heads. We then perceived 
the pretended republican hussars sabering, without mercy, the 
troops of the battalion of reserve, which was already in flight. 

At this spectacle, as terrible as it was unexpected, I felt my 
blood freeze in my veins, and my legs tremble under me. 
“Well,” said Cherche-a-Manger, with delight, “was I deceived? 
Let us lose no time ! run, and collect the troops ! ” 

After the first moment of surprise, I took a desperate spring, 


THE SURPRISE. 


337 


and darted off in the direction opposite to that taken by the 
enemy. But I could not avoid hearing behind me the cries of 
the wounded who fell under the sabres of the Vendeans. 

It is impossible, adequately, to describe the confusion which 
prevailed ‘in the camp. Surprised and disarmed, in the midst 
of their occupations or leisure, and utterly panic-struck, our 
men attacked each other, without knowing what they did, and 
thus increased the danger of their position. It soon became a 
general “ sauve qui peut” and those soldiers who, by chance, 
happened to have their muskets, instead of using them against 
the enemy, directed them against their own comrades, in order 
to clear themselves a passage. 

One man alone showed himself superior to the danger; it 
was Cherche-a-Manger, who, throwing himself before the run- 
aways, and endeavoring to stop them, did all that was humanly 
possible to organize a resistance, but in vain. For myself, I do 
not hesitate to declare that I felt a lively sensation of pleasure, 
when, after having crossed the ditch which surrounded the 
camp, I found myself in the open country. No obstacle oppos- 
ing any longer my flight, I redoubled my speed. In less than 
ten 'minutes I cleared half a league of distance ; then panting, 
my legs trembling, and my breathing oppressed, I stopped, in 
order to recover myself. 

“Allow me to congratulate you on the strength of your 
hams,” said Cherche-a-Manger, who, on turning round at his 
voice, I perceived planted right before me, presenting arms. 
“Good heavens! that I should see the time when I could no 
longer keep up with you, though I ran nearly as quick as a hare.” 

“Ah ! what a frightful calamity, captain ! ” 

“What calamity are you speaking of?” 

“The. attack on our camp.” 

“Bah! that event is not worth the trouble of thinking about. 
I have seen several suoh since I have been making war in 
La Vendee. Well! my dear friend,” said he, after a moment’s 


338 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


silence, presenting arras again anew, in an ironical way : “ well ! j 
the brigands always appeared to you insignificant enemies, only 1 
worthy of contempt? Does not this little brush make you c 
change your opinion ? ” 1 

“Can you jest, captain, at such a moment? Do you see i 
that smoke which rises in black whirlwinds in the direction of 
the camp?” 

“Yes, the brigands are amusing themselves in burning our 1 
tents. I have burned more than forty of their farms, and I t 
vow that the recollection of it just now is so precious, that it f 
helps me to support, philosophically, the loss of my baggage. 1 
But listen ! Do n’t you hear a noise like that of a battalion on 1 
the march ? ” 

“Yes, perfectly,” I replied, lowering my voice, whilst | ' 
Cherche-a-Manger, with his ear placed upon the ground, tried 
to ascertain the direction of the noise. 

Never shall I forget the extravagant delight I felt, when, a 
few minutes after, on reaching an eminence that we made for, 

I perceived the blue uniforms of the republican soldiers. “We 
are saved ! ” I cried, raising to heaven a look full of tears and 
gratitude. 

“Famous!” cried Cherche-a-Manger, rubbing his hands joy- 
fully, “ we are going to strike in our turn ! let ’s run and warn 
our comrades.” 

In less than a quarter of an hour, streaming with perspira- 
tion, and exhausted with fatigue, we reached the republican 
column. Cherche-a-Manger, in a few words, explained to the 
commander the events that had taken place, and the latter ! 
immediately caused his troops to quicken their march. 

“ I think we are going to have our share of the fun,” said 
Cherche-a-Manger. “ The brigands are engaged in burning our 
tents, and do not at all expect a retaliation on our part. They ! 
will be surprised, and we shall make a terrible slaughter; that 
will be delicious.” 


THE CHASE. 


339 


til! The republican column was little more than a quarter of a 
nlj eague from the camp, when a Vendean, emerging from a thin 
'oq 3oppice, where he had been squatted, darted off in the direc- 
tion of Roulliere. Fifty shots were fired at him at once, but, 
>e« unfortunately, not one of them took effect, 
of! “If that scamp reaches the camp he will give the alarm,” 
said Cherche-a-Manger, furiously chewing his moustache; “cost 
ur what it may, he must be stopped in his route.” Then suiting 
I the action to the word, the captain darted irr pursuit of the 
it fugitive. Although the latter had considerably the start of 
e, him, it was soon evident that Cherclie-a-Manger would reach 
a the Vendean. The brigand, finding that he must succumb in 
this struggle of speed, suddenly wheeled about, and putting 
{ his musket to his shoulder, presented it at his pursuer. The 
i instant that the Vendean fired at the captain, the latter threw 
'himself on the ground, at the same time firing his pistol. The 
i Vendean fell; his fall was, however, useless, for we then per- 
ceived, coming out of a bush, at a hundred paces in advance 
of the scene of death, a second Vendean, who took his route 
in the direction of La Roulliere. 

“Soldiers,” cried the commander of the column, “quick 
march. Long live the republic ! ” 

In another half hour we reached the camp, then in the 
hands of the incendiaries; but we were too late. An admirable 
| and well sustained fire, which proceeded from behind the 
intrenchments, and threw down twenty of our men, proved 
that they were ready for us. 

It is impossible to describe what then took place; for there 
are impressions which arise at such times, which cannot be 
depicted by the pen ; recollections which float vivid and terriblo 
in the mind, but which it is still impossible to bring into a 
tangible form. 

Of all this scene of carnage, in which I took a part, as well 
as the rest — for I had seized the musket of a soldier who was 


340 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


killed at my side, and amply discharged my duty — I can 
recollect nothing but the cry, U sauve qui pent ” which finished 
it. That cry, which is still present to my memory, pierced me 
to the heart, and dispelled, as by enchantment, the over- j 
excitement produced, whether by the smell of powder, or the 
animation of the conflict, or the sight of blood, which had till j 
then sustained me. j 

Obeying the general impulse, and following the example of 
my comrades, I flung my musket away, and took to flight. This 
flight, of which I have retained only a confused recollection, 
cost us more people than had fallen in the battle. It was only 
on arriving under the walls of Nantes, that we beo-an to recover 
ourselves. Thanks to the cannon of that city, which arrested.; 
the furious pursuit of the enemy. I learned afterward that 
the extent of our loss was four hundred men, and that we had j 
an affair with Charette himself. 

The very next day after our deplorable defeat, I was ordered 
to accompany a reinforcement of troops, who were proceeding j 
to the camp of Freligne, against which it was feared that the j 
enemy, elevated by his recent success, would proceed at once { 
in force. 

I learned with great pleasure, that our detachment, whose 
march was attended with serious danger, was to be commanded ; 
by Cherche-a-Manger, whom I had had opportunity of judging! 
in action, and in whom I had every confidence. 

On the morning of the 13th of September we arrived at 
Freligne. This camp was admirably well fortified and defend- 
ed; its shape presented a large square, bristling with formi- 
dable palisades, and surrounded with a deep fosse. General 
Guillaume commanded in it, assisted by the Chief of Brigade ! 
Prat, and Lieutenant- Colonel Mirnet. 

“I ask only,” said Cherche-a-Manger to me, when I met| 
him the evening of our arrival, “ that Charette may come to 
attack us here! I consent to be shot for a traitor or a spy, if i 


THE CAMP AT FRELIGNE. 


341 


such an adventure does not procure us an ample revenge for 
our check at Roulliere.” 

% 

Alas! the captain’s wishes were only too soon realized; the 
next day, toward evening, a great tumult in the camp made 
me suspect the presence of Charette in the neighborhood ; nor 
was I deceived. We soon learned officially that the Vendean 
general, seconded by his terrible lieutenant, Couetin, was march- 
ing upon our camp, from which he was at that moment at a 
very short distance. We passed the night under arms, and 
the next day saw the enemy appear. 

As at this time we were not only upon our guard, but had 
completely taken our measures, and our camp was admirably 
fortified, the anxiety I felt was nothing like that caused by the 
surprise at Roulliere. It was splendid weather when we per- 
ceived the first Vend ean column; it was composed of about 
two thousand men, and advanced with so much audacity that 
its aspect was imposing. A little after, we perceived two new 
columns advancing upon two other opposite sides of our camp. 
A deep silence, only interrupted by the orders given by our 
chiefs, reigned in our ranks. 

“Parbleu,” said Cherche-a-Manger, in a low voice to me, 
“ the brigands lead the way badly in their enterprise.” 

“ How so, captain ? ” I replied in the same tone. 

“Because their first division, which seems to me the most 
important of their army, manoeuvres just in a manner to attack 
the camp on the side where it is best defended ; that division 
is going to be cut into mince meat in less time than it takes to 
make the prediction; you will soon see that this time we shall 
have some fun.” 

Cherche-a-Manger was not deceived; the column which he 
pointed out as committing so terrible a mistake, arrived within 
forty paces of our intrenchments without a shot being fired on 
either side. It then began to attack the camp, not only at the 
point where it was best defended, but also on the only side 


342 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


perhaps where it was quite impregnable. Sheltered behind 
our intrenchments, we poured upon it a shower of balls, carry- 
ing, if not confusion, at least carnage into its ranks. A scene 
then passed which I shall never forget. 

Two Vendean standard-bearers advancing calmly and smil- 
ing in the midst of the firing, came with a boldness which I 
know not whether to call heroism or madness, and planted their 
standards upon our intrenchments. If Cherche-a-Manger had 
not snatched a musket from the hand of a soldier, and fired 
upon one of the two rash standard-bearers, who immediately 
fell dead, it is probable that the unfortunate youth, would have 
retired safe and sound, as did his comrade. 

At the moment in which we took possession of the enemy’s 
flags, the news was spread in our camp, that the Vendean 
chief Delaunay, the same who, with Charette, had so much 
contributed to our defeat at Roulliere, had just been killed. 
Our shouts of long live the republic, and our discharges of 
musketry, increased in vivacity. 

Our murderous defence, which at any moment might be 
changed into the offensive, appeared at last to terrify the bri- 
gands ; their fire fell off by degrees, and a marked hesitation 
soon manifested itself in their ranks ; soon, in short, their column 
on the left withdrew in disorder : — we might consider ourselves 
as victors. 

“Your predictions are realized to the letter, captain,” said I 
to Cherche-a-Manger; “but what’s the matter now,” I added, 
on observing his anxious countenance. 

“The affair is in good train,” he replied; “but I am far 
from considering it concluded. I am uneasy at the absence of 
Charette, for if this brigand is not found in the hottest of the 
battle, it necessarily follows that he is detained elsewhere by 
some very important motive. I am afraid he has the intention 
of turning our camp by the wood of La Pearguiere ; if that ’s 
the case — curse it ! ” cried Cherche-a-Manger at that moment 


THE VENDEAN CHIEF. 


343 


in a rage; “do you hear? That’s his voice, he has turned the 
camp ! Look at him ! ” 

In the midst of the waving smoke* between the space which 
separated us from the enemy, I then saw a lean nervous man 
of the middle stature, wearing a white scarf tied round his 
breast, and a plume of the same color on his broad-brimmed 
hat: I knew at once that it was Charette. 

At the sight of their general exposing himself thus rashly to 
our balls, the Vendeans no longer hesitated; they threw them- 
selves between him and us, in order to cover him with their 
bodies, and the battle began again with more fury than ever. 

Infatuated by the presence of their chief, the brigands 
rushed like wild beasts up to our intrenchments, not with 
courage, but with delirium. 

The flashes of their muskets approached us nearer and 
nearer, and almost burned our faces; it was clear that the 
j enemy, having crossed our fosse filled with their dead, had 
finished by clearing the palisades, and penetrating into our 
camp. 

General Guillaume, fully appreciating the imminence of his 
! position, and feeling that a moment’s indecision would ruin us, 
threw himself, sword in hand, in advance of us all, upon the 
Yendeans. The conduct of our brave general was equal to 
! that of Charette ; the chief royalist and the chief republican 
showed themselves worthy of each other. But alas, a ball 
I struck Guillaume in the midst of his progress, and threw him 
i roughly on the ground. 

“Long live the republic! forward, Prat! ” cried he in falling. 

Our chief of brigade, the worthy successor of our general, 
wanted not this appeal to show himself equal to the task; he 
sprung forward, sword in hand, upon the brigands. Poor 
Prat! a few seconds after, he fell mortally struck, at the foot 
of the intrenchments. 

The blood of these two martyrs demanded vengeance, and 
15 


344 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


they were revenged. No further troubling ourselves to charge 
our muskets, we rushed with the bayonet upon the Vendeans, 
who, after having cleared the palisades, had intruded themselves 
into our camp. Our charge produced a frightful slaughter. 

“My friends, my children,” said the colonel to us, “it is use- 
less any longer to defend our camp; we must march upon the 
enemy, and put him to flight. You are republicans ! you have 
sworn to conquer or die ! and I am at your head, success can- 
not be doubtful ! Long live the republic, and forward ! ” 

The announcement of this sortie was received with enthusi- 
astic shouts. In less time than it takes me to write it, a column 
formed itself as by enchantment, and rushed from the camp at 
the pas de charge. 

At the sight of our bold movement, the Vendeans, surprised 
for an instant, seemed to hesitate as to the course they ought 
to take, and drew back. 

By a chivalric imprudence which the critical position in 
which we found ourselves could alone excuse, our commander 
marched twenty paces in advance of us. 

There occurred then one of those heroic incidents, so com- 
mon in the wars of La Vendee, and which a modern Homer 
might hand down to immortality. It was a scene which I shall 
never forget, and which is still vividly present before me. 

The brigands, as I have before remarked, intimidated or 
surprised at our unexpected sortie, had retired before us, when 
Charette, advancing alone from the ranks of his soldiers, pre- 
sented himself, sword in hand, before our brave colonel. 
Planting in the ground a tri-colored flag which he bore, 
Mermet rushed toward the formidable Vendean. The troops 
of our column, and those of the royalists, were for a moment 
undecided, and as if struck with respect. Charette smiled. 

In the meantime, this chivalric combat was not allowed to 
take place. On seeing the danger incurred by our chief, and 
recognizing the terrible Vendean chief, our muskets were 


the combat. 


345 


pointed at the latter. The royalists, on their part, knowing 
that Mermet was our last hope, shouldered their pieces and 
took aim. It was a thousand to one that both Mermet and 
Charette were about to pay for their boldness by their lives; 
but fate was against us. A Vendean of colossal figure and 
herculean strength, carried off his general in his arms at the 
instant we fired, and running in the midst of a shower of balls, 
set him down unhurt in the midst of his own troops. Mermet 
for want of a similar act of devotedness on his behalf, fell 
dead. 

The fall of our heroic colonel produced amongst us an in- 
describable sensation, and abated our ardor. We dared no 
longer continue the sortie, that alone could save us ; and re- 
gained our intrenchments. 

Our retreat, if it had its ignominy, was nobly redeemed by 
the conduct of an officer of the 39th regiment, who, planting 
himself, sword in hand, at the foot of the tri-colored flag, 
placed there by Mermet, refused to follow us, and swore to 
defend the colors to the death. In five minutes he fell to rise 
no more ; at the same moment, one of his comrades, quitting 
the ranks, ran toward the flag, snatched it from the ground, 
and turning toward the Vendeans, waved it above his head, 
with an air of menace and defiance; a ball almost instantly 
reached the unfortunate man, who sunk down lifeless, near the 
corpse of his brother in arms. 

In spite of my desire to hasten as quick as possible through 
this atmosphere of blood, I cannot pass over in silence the 
touching and lofty grief of the son of Mermet, a lad of fourteen 
years of age, who, after having fought like a lion near his fa- 
ther, attached himself to his corpse, which he covered with 
kisses and tears, and refused to re-enter the camp. 

Our chiefs dead, our standard taken, and the morale of our 
troops affected by so many rapid reverses, we were compelled 
ultimately to yield. The first royalist, who, springing over our 


346 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


palisades, penetrated sword in hand into our intrenchments, 
was an old chevalier of St. Louis, with a head covered with 
white hair, and a sonorous and vibrating voice, “Vive le Roi, 
my friends !” cried he, addressing the Vendeans, and plunging 
into the midst of us. “Forward!” 

From this moment I lost all consciousness of existence, and 
had no recollection of what was passing, beyond that of the 
cries of the dying, imprecations, discharges of musketry, the 
smell of powder, which ascended to my brain, and so confused _ 
me, that it would be impossible for me to state precisely what 
occurred. As far as I am able to dive into this chaos, I believe 
that my comrades fought without either deigning to ask for, or 
obtaining mercy. The only impression which remains clear and 
distinct in this* frightful scene of desolation and carnage, is that 
of a violent blow which fell on my head, and which deprived, 
me of sensation. 


CHAPTER X. 


I Escape the Slaughter, and Fall in with Cherche-a-Manger — We are Captured by 
the Vendeans — Death of Cherche-a-Manger — I am Saved by Anselme — Lucille 
— A Secret Mission — We are Surprised by the Chouans — Their Matchless Atroci- 
ties — Bois Hardy and his Troop — Punishment of the False Chouans — The Vil- 
lain Kernoc — His Mysterious Escape — We cross Bretagne — I Suspect Lucille — 
Massacre of the Inhabitants of Saint Laurent des Mortiers — Coquerean — The 
Wood of La Henreuserie — Francoeur — A Proof of Lucille’s Treason — Midnight 
Attack — The Chateau of Jupelliere — Arrival of M. Jacques — We Defeat the 
Republicans — Anselme and I Overlooked — My Friend Wounded by Kernoc — M. 
Jacques’ Languishing Death in a Cave — Anselme Avenges Himself on Kernoc — 
Death of my Friend — Conclusion. 


When I came to myself, I was sometime before I was able 
to connect the past and the present. By degrees, however, I 
fully recovered my senses, and looked round me. I was lying 
in the midst of a heap of corpses, and the royalist troops, the 
masters of our camp, surrounded me on all sides. 

It was midnight, I calculated, and my hopes were realized, 
that the royalists, fatigued by the battle of the past day, would 
not let the night pass without taking rest. Toward three o’clock 
in the morning, a deep silence reigned in the camp, only inter- 
rupted by the groans of the dying. I availed myself of this 
opportunity to rise and drag myself upon my hands and knees, 
and thus got away from the corpses, in the midst of which I 
had been lying during my unconsciousness. Being able only 
to crawl. I squatted in an excavation, which, by good fortune, 
I discovered near me, and easily escaped the search of the 
royalists. 


348 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


The next morning I had a view, in all its hofrors, of the 
field of battle. I was witness also of a fearful spectacle. The 
Vendeans, after having despoiled our dead of their clothing 
and arms, pitilessly put an end to the wounded. I lost not one 
of their cries, or their sufferings. 

After the pillage of our camp, the Vendeans proceeded, as 
at Boulliere, to burn it. All that was not capable of being 
taken away, was destroyed by fire. 

An hour after the burning of the camp of Freligne was 
completed, half stifled by the smoke and heat, I quitted my 
hiding-place. After a painful march, chance, or rather provi- 
dence, conducted me to the entrance of a forest. I hastened to 
the refuge it offered. The balmy freshness which prevailed in 
the forest effected such a change in my body and mind, that 
my courage revived, and I began to reflect upon the means I 
ought to take to avoid falling into the hands of my enemies. 

I was not only a prey to fear, but also to hunger. Since the 
night before, I had taken no nourishment. The day began to 
decline, when I discovered a nut-bush, loaded with fruit. 'This 
good windfall quite reanimated me. I was about to leave these 
benevolent nut-bushes, when — 

“ Who goes there ? ” said a voice, which appeared to me like 
the sound of a trumpet. “ Who goes there ? Stir not, or I 
will shoot you ! ” 

This last recommendation was perfectly useless, for surprise 
nailed me to the ground. 

However, on a second appeal, more threatening than the 
first, I recovered my presence of mind, and answered in a firm 
tone: “A soldier of the republic! Long live the country!” 

The reader will easily comprehend the joy I experienced, on 
hearing immediately: “Long live the republic ! ” repeated with 
the exactness of an echo. 

Almost at the instant, a man, clothed in a blue uniform, came 
from behind a bush, and advanced toward me. 


AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 


349 


I “ Cherche-a-Manger ! ” cried I, with as much delight as sur- 
prise, on recognizing my captain. 

“Hold! Is it you, my dear adjutant?” answered he, clasp- 
I * n g m y h an< 3 like a vice. “I see that it is our destiny to meet 
on serious occasions; truly, I am delighted with this adventure.” 
j “You see me, captain, at least* as much delighted as your- 
I self,” I replied; “but how is it that I have the happiness of 
finding you again here ? ” 

“Like you, I have, endeavored to save myself; only — ” said 
Cherche-a-Manger, after a short silence, “I have kept my 
weapons.” 

“Whilst I have lost mine, I admit, captain. Allow me, 
however, to remark, that before losing them, I made use of 
them in the best manner I could.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” replied the captain, in a milder tone, 
“and I ask your pardon for addressing this reproach to you. 
Stop,” he added, after reflecting a few moments, “I advise 
you, adjutant, not to attempt to share my lot, but to separate 
yourself from me.” 

“Why so, my dear captain?” 

“Because, in the state of exasperation to which I am 
reduced, if we should meet the enemy, I shall involve you in a 
deplorable manner; as, therefore, you are only desirous of con- 
cealing yourself, it will be much better for you to continue 
your way alone.” 

“But, without you, as I know nothing of the country, it will 
be impossible for me to find my route, and to reach a garrison 
town.” 

“You are right, let us remain together; if we meet no" one 
we shall be to-morrow in safety at Mochecoul ; if I happen to 
meet with Yendeans, you know what I have said, I shall engage 
with them.” 

“Agreed, captain, and I shall pray fervently that we may 
not meet the Yendeans.” 


350 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


We had proceeded for about an hour in silence, when the 
discharge of a musket near us, made me start. 

“Curse them,” cried Cherche-a-Manger, dropping his mus- 
ket, “I am hit” 

I was about to pick up my unfortunate companion’s arms, 
when a dozen Yen deans sprung up, as if by enchantment, at 
my side, and threw themselves upon me. In less time than it 
takes me to write it, we were both securely pinioned. 

“Shall we shoot them?” said one of the Vendeans, address- 
ing his comrades, “or won’t it be better to lard them with a 
few bayonet thrusts.” 

“ The, bayonet is best,” replied another brigand, “do n’t waste 
the powder.” 

“Yes, bayonet them,” cried several, advancing with their 
arms in a threatening manner. 

“ Before you die, would you wish to see a priest, and con- 
fess yourselves?” inquired one of them, in a calm, but implac- 
able voice. 

“ May the deuce twist the neck of all your scullcaps ! ” cried 
Cherche-a-Manger. “If you send one to me, I warn you 
beforehand that I’ll insult him.” 

“And you?” said the Yendean to me. 

“I shall be thankful if you procure me a priest.” 

My reply appeared to produce a good effect on the Yendeans. 

“Come, rise and follow me,” said he who had proposed to 
procure a priest for me. 

I obeyed, and began to march, guarded by two other royal- 
ists, after my conductor. We had scarcely proceeded twenty 
paces, when he stopped before a large hollow tree, into the 
cavity of which he threw a small stone ; at the same instant a 
trap-door, covered with turf, rose before me, and displayed a 
flight of steps roughly cut in the earth. 

“Come down,” said my conductor, laughing at my astonish- 
ment, “ Mons. Le Cure is in the hiding-place.” 


CAPTURED BY THE YENDEANS. 


351 


After descending about a dozen steps, we reached the bot- 
i tom of the cave. A party of royalist soldiers, lying on the 
! ground with their firelocks near them, surrounded an ecclesiastic, 
who, seated on a stool, appeared to be delivering a sermon. 

A man rose hastily on seeing me enter, and springing 
toward me, took rfte in his arms, and embraced me with 
transport. “You here, my friend!” cried he, “I knew that 
we should meet again!” 

“Anselme ! Anselme ! ” exclaimed I, yielding to my feelings, 
and bursting into tears: “Ah, do I find you again, at the 
moment when I am about to die?” 

“ Die ! ” resumed Anselme, “ are you wounded ? ” 

“No, but I am a prisoner, and they will shoot me pre- 
sently.” 

“ Shoot you ! a thousand million furies ! ” repeated my com- 
panion in arms. “ Never ! ” 

My recognition by Anselme had completely drawn oft* the 
attention of the Vendeans from the cure’s sermon, and they 
drew round us. 

“ Sir,” pursued Anselme, “ I swear to you that my friend, 
here present, is an honest man in every acceptation of tfie word, 
and in setting him at liberty, you will not endanger our secu- 
rity ; I will hold myself responsible for his word.” 

“My friend,” replied the cure, after a moment’s silent con- 
sideration, “ I ask for nothing better than to save this brother 
in Christ; however, if he will not swear on the New Testa- 
ment, that he will not serve against us, I dare not interfere in 
his favor.” 

I took the oath : the cure smiled, and turning to the royal- 
ists, he spoke a few words to them in a low voice, and I found 
myself free. 

I was considering in what way I ought to exert myself to 
obtain a pardon for Cherche-a-Manger, when a discharge of 
musketry reached my ears — it was too late. 

16 * 


352 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ Follow me,” said Anselme, “ I am going to present you to 
a person with whom, in all probability, you will form an inti- 
mate acquaintance.” 

Without giving me time to question him, Anselme dragged 
me to the furthest end of the cave. The reader will judge of 
my astonishment, on finding myself in the«presence of a young 
woman handsomely dressed, and exceedingly beautiful. Her 
distinguished and rather haughty air, announced her to be a 
person of condition or elevated rank. 

“I congratulate you, sir,” said she, “for having been able to 
inspire such friendship in our brave Anselme; allow me, how- 
ever, to express my surprise that you wear the republican uni- 
form.” 

“ Madam,” I replied, “ consider me, I beg you, only as a 
man, who, if he had refused to march to glory, would infalli- 
bly have been shot. But,” added I, “will you allow me to 
ask, in my turn, the explanation of what my friend has just 
announced to me ? ” 

“Anselme probably thinks, that in return for the service he 
has rendered you, you will consent to share the danger of a 
perilous and delicate mission, which he is now discharging.” 

“ Anselme has not deceived himself, madam. May I ask 
what is this mission ? ” 

“ I am charged,” said Anselme, “ with a mission extremely 
difficult to fulfill, namely, to conduct madam across the whole 
of La Vendee to the court of Bretagne. Will you accompany 
us in the journey, and share our dangers?” 

“ I accept the offer.” 

“Well, good! I did not expect anything less from you,” 
exclaimed Anselme ; “ I knew well that you would not aban- 
don me in danger.” 

As to the unknown, the smile with which she repaid me for 
my devotedness, was so enchanting, that, dazzled and fascinated, 

I secretly rejoiced at my resolution. 


LUCILLE. 


353 


Night had then set in, and we prepared ourselves to take 
some repose. I was so overcome with fatigue, that I soon fell 
into a deep sleep. The next morning Anselme woke me, and 
I instantly rose. 

“ My dear friend,” said he, “ the moment for entering upon 
our campaign is come; if you repent of your resolution of 
yesterday, nothing hinders you from withdrawing from it.” 

“ The fact is, sir,” said the unknown, with a most seductive 
smile, “ I should be distressed if any misfortune befell you on 
my account ; reflect, therefore, maturely, before you engage in 
our perilous enterprise.” 

“ I have never had but one intention, madam,” replied I, 
“ and I only regret at not being able to' show you, by a great 
sacrifice, the admiration your courage excites in me. Anselme, 
let us set out, I am ready.” 

I shall not detail all the incidents we met with in our jour- 
ney across La Vendee. Twenty times we were on the point of 
falling into the hands of the republican troops; but thanks to 
our caution, and to the excellent advice of Lucille, we always 
escaped. 

When we arrived at Bretagne, there was nothing talked of 
but General Hoche, who was then there. That officer was 
very superior to his predecessors, and saw at once that there 
was no other means of reducing the rough Bretons, than those 
of mildness and clemency; he therefore deluged the country 
with proclamations, containing promises to and proposals of 
amnesty. 

Unfortunately, the Bretons had been so often deceived, that 
they put no faith in these promises. The principal chief of 
the Bretonne Chouanery, was Bois Hardy, who was located in 
the district of Brienne sur les Cotes de Nord. A man of re- 
markable activity and courage, he was, unfortunately, implaca- 
ble in his vengeance, and never showed any mercy to the blue 
prisoners who were taken in battle. 


354 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


During* my journey, I questioned Anselme about the mis- 
sion with which he was entrusted: he contented himself with 
saying that he had been sent by a personage of great import- 
ance to seek Lucille, at Nantes, with orders to obey her in 
everything. “ For the rest,” said he, “I am completely igno- 
rant of the object of our journey.” He would not inform me 
who this “person of great importance” was. 

We stopped one night at a farm-house, composed of two 
rooms on the ground floor, the first being parted in the center 
by a chimney, in which several persons might be seated ; the 
second was used as a bed-room by the farmer and his wife. 
The first story, accessible by means of a ladder, had been con- 
verted into a granary, and here the farmer’s son slept when he 
was not with the royalist troops. 

We were received by our hosts with perfect frankness and 
cordiality ; our modest supper, which consisted of buckwheat 
cakes, fried in fresh butter, and a jug of cider, being over, it 
was resolved that Lucille should sleep in the chamber of 
our hosts, and that Anselme and I should retire to the first 
story, or granary. Here, crouched with my companion on a 
bundle of hay, I fell asleep. I was awoke by a noise of con- 
fused voices. 

“ Anselme,” said I, arousing my companion, “ take your 
firelock, troops have arrived.” 

“ So much the worse for them,” he replied coolly. 

We rose immediately, and seizing our arms, went on tiptoe 
to a kind of window, which served as a door to the granary. 
Scarcely had Anselme set his foot on the first step, when we 
heard frightful oaths in the farm-yard. “ It is too late,” said 
he coolly, “ let us wait.” Then he seized the ladder, and drew 
it up, by main strength, into the chamber. 

At his suggestion, I had begun to work a hole into the floor, 
in order to see what was going on below, when dreadful shrieks 
reached us, which froze the blood in my veins. “ Death and 


LUCILLE. 


355 


furies ! ” said Anselme, “ ’t is hard work, when we hear such 
music, to remain with folded arms.” 

I had soon accomplished my task ; throwing myself flat on 
my face, I cast a look into the room beneath. Horrible! 
Never shall I forget the frightful spectacle that met my sight. 
The unfortunate farmer lay in the middle of the room, in a 
pool of blood; not far from him his wife, effectually garotted, 
was held by four Chouans, whilst a fifth twisted a knotted cord 
with his fingers, which cut into her flesh. 

The other Chouans, to the number of about a score, amused 
themselves with breaking the- furniture and utensils of the 
farm, with a pleasure worthy of true savages. 

Such was my emotion, caused by this spectacle, that I was 
unable to speak; I rose, and made a sign to Anselme to take 
my place. 

Scarcely had my comrade applied his eye to the 'bpening, 
than springing up with a bound, “death and furies! ” said he, 
“ take your firelock, and at them ! ” 

I seized my musket, and passing the barrel through the 
hole, fired, and a Chouan fell. “Parbleu! That’s good!” 
cried Anselme, “it’s my turn now.” 

A fresh discharge took place, and another Chouan fell. 
“ Now you,” said my companion, “ whilst I reload my piece.” 
I fired again; the Chouans, surprised and frightened at this 
unexpected attack, hastily abandoned the scene of their abomi- 
nations, and took to flight. 

In a few moments we were in pursuit of them, with a warmth 
and impetuosity proportioned to our indignation. Unfortu- 
nately, we did not know the country, and the assassins had the 
advance of us. One only, who had dislocated his foot in run- 
nino- fell into our hands. Anselme, with a sabre, split his head 
in two. 

“Ah! My God, and Lucille!” exclaimed I, recollecting 
our unfortunate companion ; for this scene, which had passed 


356 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


so quickly, had not left us presence of mind to reflect on what 
might be her fate. At this exclamation, Anselme stopped 
short in the midst of his speed, and turning toward me said, 
coolly — 

“ I have promised him, who entrusted her to me, to defend 
her to death; if these brigands have killed her, I will blow 
my brains out. Let us return.” 

Scarcely had'we taken a hundred paces, than we found our- 
selves in the presence of the charming young woman whose 
fate had disturbed us so greatly, and I leave you to imagine 
the joy this meeting caused us. . 

“Ah! madam,” said I, “we scarcely hoped ever to see you 
again ! thank God who has preserved your days. But, pray, 
inform us how it has happened that you have escaped from 
this fearful catastrophe?” 

“In a very simple manner,” she replied; “the Chouans did 
not enter the room where I slept.” 

“ But was not the farmer’s wife sleeping with you ? ” 

“No, the poor woman, in order not to molest me, gave up 
her room to me. But,” continued Lucille, hastily, “we are 
talking whilst the unfortunate woman is dying ; let us run, if it 
is yet in time, to save her.” We ran toward the house, but 
were met by flames which burst from all parts of the building. 
The Chouans had fired it, and not a wreck was saved. 

We had to resume our route in the middle of the nicdit. 

o 

During the first hour of our nocturnal march, we did not 
speak a single word ; we were still under the influence of the 
horrible events to which we had been witnesses. I looked for 
daybreak with impatience; but it was decreed that that night, 
already so fatal, should not pass without further adventure. 
We were' coasting along the borders of a wood, when a « qui 
vive ?' stopped us in our march. 

“ God and the king ! ” replied Anselme, with his sonorous 
voice, and presenting his firelock. 


BOIS HARDY. 


357 


Almost instantly we were surrounded by a numerous troop 
of Chouans. 

“ The first who takes a step in advance, is a dead man,” 
said Anselme. 

“ Why are you afraid that we should come near you, if you 
are good royalists like ourselves ? ” said the man who carried 
the lantern. 

“Because the Chouans are not royalists; but frightful and 
ignoble bandits, who only assassinate and plunder,” replied my 
companion, boldly. 

“We! Are the soldiers of Bois Hardy robbers and assas- 
sins?” repeated the man with the lantern. “Pardieu! you 
shall pay dear for those words.” 

Lucille, calm and smiling, advanced toward the Chouans, 
who had already presented their arms, and placing herself 
between them and us: “Is your chief Bois Hardy now here?” 
said she, in her enchanting voice. 

At this apparition, — for Lucille was as handsome as an 
angel, — the Chouans manifested surprise and admiration which 
they did not care to conceal. “Yes, he is,” replied one of 
them; “if you wish to see him, I can conduct you to him.” 

Lucille. ordered us to deliver up our arms to the Chouans; 
when we had obeyed, she told us to accompany her. March- 
ing behind the Chouan who carried the lantern, we entered 
the forest ; after a walk of about five minutes, our guide uttered 
a strange sound, which made me start; almost at the same 
instant we heard in the distance the cry of a stag. 

“ M. Bois Hardy is informed of your coming, and is waiting 
for you,” said our conductor. 

A few steps further, we perceived a light shining through 
the branches, and almost immediately we came to a hut con- 
structed of boughs of trees. 

I was surprised, after having crossed the threshold of the 
door, at the picturesque scene which the interior of the cabin 


358 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


presented. All around the walls, constructed of branches of 
trees interlaced, and retaining still a part of their foliage, 
narrow couches were conveniently arranged; above each couch 
was hung a musket ; a dozen Chouans, clad in the Breton cos- 
tume, and seated in a circle in the middle of the room, were 
employed in mentally repeating their prayers.' 

Our guide pointed with his finger to a man seated in the 
midst of the Chouans, and who was no other than Bois Hardy 
himself. 

“Who have you brought us there, Le Bosec?” said he to 
our guide. 

To this question the peasant answered by a pretty long 
discourse pronounced in low-Breton. 

“Bosec informs me,” said the chief at last, when the Breton 
•had ceased to speak, “that you have treated my lads as assas- 
sins and thieves ! ” 

“Bosec has only told you the truth,” answered Anselme. 
“ Only a few moments ago, I formally declared that the 
Chouans were all rogues, robbers, and assassins.” 

“Who are you?” asked the Breton chief, addressing my 
companion and myself. 

“Royalists, who fight for God and their king, and not 
thieves and assassins like you ! ” cried Anselme. 

“How has it happened that you are found at this hour of 
the night, upon the borders of the forest? Where do vou 
come from, and where are you going? ” 

“We come from Nantes, and your bandits have met us in 
the forest, because the farm at which hospitality had been 
granted us to-night, was burned two hours ago by Chouans, 
and we were compelled to fly in order to avoid falling into 
their hands.” 

“At what farm have you been received ? ” 

“The poor farmer so brutally assassinated by your banditti 
is called Mathurin.” 


BOIS HARDY AND HIR TROOPS. 359 

At these words one of the Chonans rose, uttering a storm 
of rage and grief, and darting upon Anselme, and taking him 
by the throat, cried out: “My father assassinated ! Ah, wretch, 
it is thou who hast murdered him ; thou shalt die ! ” 

On seeing their comrade throw himself upon Anselme, the 
Bretons rose and surrounded us, and Bois Hardy was obliged 
to use all his authority to restrain them. “My lads,” said he, 
“I warn you that I will blow out the brains of the first of you 
who shall again threaten these people ; if they are spies, there 
is no need of your aid to urge me to have them shot.” 

Lucille, who up to this moment had not interfered in the 
discussion, now addressed herself to Bois Hardy. “Sir,” said 
she, “I should have wished to maintain my incognito, but I 
am now compelled to declare myself; I am the good genius 
of Mons. Jacques in battle, and the companion of his leisure 
hours.” 

I confess that these words, spoken by Lucille with emphasis 
and pride, produced in me extreme astonishment, from the 
prodigious effect they produced, both on the Chouans and on 
Bois Hardy himself. 

The Breton chief, bowing with a gallantry and respect that 
his bluntness rendered still more striking, took her hand, and 
carried it respectfully to his lips. 

“Madam,” said he, “I had already guessed you were a 
heroine ; but I was far from expecting that my good star would 
conduct upon my route the good genius of the greatest warrior 
that the royalist cause has ever produced.” 

Lucille accepted this compliment as her due, although Bois 
Hardy was, at that period, reckoned amongst the most influ- 
ential and renowned chiefs of the Breton insurrection. 

As to the Chouans, since Lucille had spoken of M. Jacques, 
they evidently regarded her with an admiration and respect 
almost religious. 

“Madam,” said Bois Hardy, “forgive me, I conjure you, the 


360 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


request I am about to make ; as tlie companion of a warrior, 
you will understand better than any one, what precautions and 
duties are incumbent upon tlie chiefs.” 

“I comprehend you, sir,” replied Lucille, smiling; “you de- 
sire a proof of my identity: you are right, sir, here is the last 
letter M. Jacques sent me at Nantes, and which has occasioned 
my departure ; you may read the whole of it, as it contains no 
secrets.” 

Bois Hardy took the paper, but scarcely had he cast his eyes 
on it, than he instantly returned it to her, saying: “ I recognize 
the writing, madam; it is quite sufficient.” Then turning to 
Anselme, he demanded from him the particulars of the fire at 
the farm of M. Mathurin, and the assassination of which that 
unfortunate man had been the victim. 

Anselme related in a few words, but with scrupulous fidelity, 
the events which had happened to us. In many parts, his 
recital was interrupted by unequivocal exclamations of indig- 
nation and disgust from the Chouans present, who were much 
excited. 

“My friend,” said Bois Hardy, “your recital most sadly con- 
firms an intimation I have received, but which I could not 
believe, so monstrous did the thing appear to me ; I need not 
now explain myself further on this subject. It is of the first 
importance that the wretches who have thus dishonored our 
holy cause, should be punished for their misdeeds, that the 
honor of our Chouan name may be avenged.” 

Two hours lateiyas soon as day began to break, Bois Hardy 
took me and Anselme to accompany him in the pursuit after 
the incendiaries of the farm. He wished, he said, to have us 
for witnesses of the signal vengeance he intended to execute 
upon them. 

- It was about six o’clock in the morning when we left the 
forest, and we directed our steps at once toward the burned 
farm, in order to discover traces of the assassins. With a 


THE VILLAIN KERNOC. 


361 


sagacity worthy of Mohicans, the Chouans soon discovered the 
road taken by the incendiaries. 

Bois Hardy immediately dispatched several of his men, to 
take different orders for his moveable columns, and then, with- 
out loss of time, proceeded to follow the fugitives. It was late 
in the evening, as we were passing through a village, our at- 
tention was attracted by a great light which illuminated the 
horizon, at the distance of about a quarter of a league. 

Half an hour later, we arrived at a burned cabin. Some hay 
stacks were still on fire around the humble dwelling. 

“Forward!” cried Bois Hardy, all at once, pointing with his 
finger to a troop of men who fled. Let us avenge the honor 
of Bretany.” 

In less than ten minutes after, the Chouans had reached the 
incendiaries. Hot a shot had been fired. 

Bois Hardy placed himself before the assassins and said, “I 
am Bois Hardy, and you are going to be shot. 

The wretched men, to the number of twenty, did not at- 
tempt the least resistance; they threw down tlieir. arms and 
began to pray for mercy. 

“ Which is your commander ? ” said Bois Hardy. 

A man, who might be about forty years of age, and whose 
appearance was not destitute of energy, immediately placed 
himself motionless before the Chouan chief. 

“ To what parish do you belong, and what is your name ? ” 
demanded the latter. 

“ My name is Kernoc, and I am from Plancoet.” 

“You lie! thej-e is no Kernoc at Plancoet!” cried Bois 
Hardy ; l< not only are you not from Plancoet, but, thank God, 
you are not even a Breton. See, now, answer me the question 
I am about to put to you.” 

Looking the incendiary full in the face, Bois Hardy then 
addressed him in low-Breton. The rascal hung down his head, 
and remained silent. 


362 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“You see, boys,” cried Bois Hardy, joyfully, and casting a 
glance at Anselme and me, “you see, plainly, that this man is 
not of ours, he does not understand low-Breton ! ” 

“Well, I admit it; I am neither a royalist nor a Chouan,” 
said the bandit, raising his head proudly; “but my secret shall 
die with me, and you shall remain ignorant of the advantage 
you might have derived from my capture, had you been gen- 
erous toward me.” 

“ The banditti who accompany you, are also not Bretons ; is 
it not so ? ” resumed Bois Hardy. 

“The men who accompany me,” replied the pretended Ker- 
noc, independently, “are honest galley slaves, escaped from 
the hulks.” - 

These words raised a cry of rage and indignation amongst 
our Chouans, and the son of Mathurin, advancing toward Bois 
Hardy, said to him, “Do you permit us, sir, to shoot the assas- 
sins of my father ? ” 

“Certainly, mv lads! shoot, hang, burn these wretches; it 
signifies little what death you inflict upon them, provided you 
do n’t let one of them escape.” 

The Chouans immediately took from their false brethren 
their arms, and gagged them effectually. As to the son of the 
farmer Mathurin, he seized Kernoc by the throat, saying, “It is 
upon thee, traitor and villain, that I shall avenge the death of 
my father.” 

The chief of the incendiaries turned pale, and hastily draw- 
ing back to the place where Bois Hardy stood : “ Sir,” said he, 
X “I do not fear death, but I wish to live a few days longer; if 
you consent to defer my execution for a week, I will repay 
you for that favor by divulging a secret of immense utility to 
you.” 

Bois Hardy made a sign to Mathurin to remove farther off, 
and casting a look of supreme contempt on the prostrate bandit 
before him: “What is the nature of this revelation,” said he, 


KERNOC’S CONFESSION. 


363 


“and what benefit shall I draw from it for the kind’s cause, if 
I grant your prayer ? ” 

“An immense benefit — that of unveiling to the whole of 
France an abominable plot against the royalists, in order to 
dishonor them.” 

“Speak,” said Bois Hardy, after having reflected a moment; 
“if your revelations appear to me useful, I will deign to grant 
you the respite of forty-eight hours; if not, I give you up to 
Mathurin.” 

“Well, know, Bois Hardy, that the republican mountaineers, 
in order to destroy the Chouans in the estimation of the inhab- 
itants of the country, have created amongst themselves false 
Chouans, whom they have commissioned to massacre, burn, and 
plunder; I am the chief of one of these bands; all the bandits 
who accompany me are men taken from the galleys to play the 
game of false Chouans.” 

The confession of Kernoc produced in the Chouans, as the 
reader may suppose, unspeakable surprise and indignation. As 
to Bois Hardy, I saw by the smile which passed his lips, the 
value he attached to these revelations. 

The astonishment of the Bretons at the monstrous inventions 
of the false Chouans, was not greater than the rage of the 
bandits of Kernoc on seeing themselves thus betrayed by their 
chief; forgetting for the moment the death which awaited them, 
they showered insults and imprecations on the revealer, but he 
remained perfectly insensible to their attacks. 

I pass over in silence the bloody scene of the execution of 
the false Chouans. 

As it is possible that I may be accused of having invented 
this tale for the purpose of getting up a dramatic episode, I beg 
to observe that my account, derived from experience, has been 
confirmed by a despatch of General Rossignol to the committee 
of public safety, and by a letter written by General Kreig to 
the representative Ballet. 


364 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


After the galley-slaves had been executed, Bois Hardy set 
out on his return with his lads, who, delighted with the success 
of their expedition, amused themselves during a part of the 
night in singing national songs. 

Pleased with the opportunity that procured me the meeting 
with the famous Chouan chief, I ventured to address him. 
“My request, sir, will probably appear very strange to you,” 
said I, “but I much wish you would inform me who is this 
celebrated personage known by the name of M. Jacques.” 

“Faith,” replied Bois Hardy, smiling, “I will tell you all I 
know : After having fought in the Vendean army, M. Jacques, 
having gone to Mans, where no one knew him, signalized his 
presence in that country by such fortunate appearances in 
moments of danger, that the peasants, whose simple and naive 
imagination is admirably adapted to the mysterious, £t once 
made of him a supernatural being. Comprehending the im- 
mense advantage that this reputation, — unsought for on his 
part, — would give him, M. Jacques has done every thing in his 
power to preserve it, and has shrouded himself in a complete 
mystery. Rash to an extent, as it would appear, of which 
nothing can give an adequate idea, and which is only justified 
by the extraordinary good fortune in action which always ac- 
companies him, M. Jacques is considered invulnerable; and 
besides, M. Jacques is a poet, and composes war-songs which 
his soldiers learn, and which led them to victory. M. de la 
Puisaye, who alone knows the real name, antecedents, and vast 
projects of M. Jacques, will not entrust these details to any of 
us, for fear that an involuntary indiscretion on our part would 
deprive M. Jacques of the prestige which surrounds him. 
Now,” added Bois Hardy, smiling, “you know as much on the 
subject as I do myself.” 

It was about three o’clock in the morning when we arrived 
in the forest in which Bois Hardy had for the time established 
his head-quarters; we found Lucille on foot and impatiently 


PREPARING FOR OUR MARCII. 


365 


■waiting our arrival. I related, in a few words, the success of 
our expedition. The invention of the false Chouans provoked 
her greatly, and she thought the Bretons justified in having 
punished them with a severity that should serve as an example. 
“But," my dear companion,” said she, “here’s a day lost for our 
journey ; if your strength is not too much exhausted, I would 
propose that we start without further delay.” 

Although Lucille accompanied these words with one of her 
delightful smiles, I was so harrassed and weary that I refused ; 
but Lucille insisted with so much tenacity, that I was com- 
pelled at last to yield. 

Anselme, not less fatigued than myself, wished to expostu- 
late, but Lucille imperiously cut him short. Bois Hardy, seeing 
the uselessness of our efforts, contented himself with express- 
ing his regret at not retaining longer with him the companion 
of M. Jacques. “However, madam,” said he, “as your depart- 
ure is not urgent, you will grant me an hour to provide you 
with an escort.” 

This offer was too graceful and reasonable to be refused; 
however, I saw by the cold and almost harsh manner in which 
Lucille thanked Bois Hardy, that the delay annoyed her. 

“Are you not at all curious, madam, to see our prisoner 
Kernoc ? ” said he ; “ I have sent to fetch him.” 

“No, sir, I thank you,” answered Lucille, drily: “I have no 
wish for the company of an assassin ; your gallantry may be 
Bretonic, but certainly it is not good taste.” 

“Faith, madam,” replied Bois Hardy, evidently vexed, “I 
did not think the companion of M. Jacques was so nervous and 
impressible as you are; shut your eyes, then, if the sight of a 
bandit makes you afraid, for here are my boys coming in with 
the prisoner.” 

He had scarcely spoken, when Kernoc, with his hands bound 
and guarded by four Chouans, entered the cabin. The first 
person he saw was Lucille, who, erect and motionless before 


366 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


him, resembled, by the paleness of her countenance, a statue 
of marble. 

At the sight of the young woman, Kernoc uttered an excla- 
mation of surprise; then, in a stifled voice: “What, unfortunate 
Justine, are you also a prisoner ?” said he, looking at her with 
bewildered eyes. 

“ What do you want with me, miserable assassin ?” exclaimed, 
she, looking at Kernoc indignantly; “have I then the misfor- 
tune to resemble a female of your acquaintance ? ” 

“Ah, forgive me, madam ! Yes, I made a mistake,” replied 
Kernoc, “but the resemblance is really so extraordinary; I beg 
your pardon for this error.” 

“There’s enough said on that subject; I don’t choose to be 
compared with creatures of your acquaintance,” interrupted 
Lucille, haughtily ; then turning to Bois Hardy : “ Make them 
remove this man, whose conduct recalls such frightful scenes ; 
his presence quite upsets me : I feel quite ill and must give up 
my intention of setting off on my journey. Yes, if it will not 
inconvenience you, M. Bois Hardy, I will ask you to grant me 
your hospitality for this night.” 

The response of Bois Hardy may be guessed ; to our great 
satisfaction, it was agreed that Lucille should not set out till 
the next day. Within an hour we were all asleep, thanks to 
the fatigues of the day. 

The next morning when I awoke, I found the lads of Bois 
Hardy in a violent rage, and overwhelmed with astonishment. 
The false Chouan had escaped during the night. This inex- 
plicable disappearance produced an extraordinary impression on 
the Chouans. Bois Hardy himself was cast down by it; as to 
Lucille, she exhibited real despair at this mysterious event. 

“What does it signify to you, madam,” said I, in order to 
console her, “whether the rascal is at liberty or not? One 
would believe, truly, to see and hear you, that his flight was an 
irreparable misfortune, to you.” 


THE ESCAPE OF KERNOC. 


367 


“You are right to scold me, my friend,” replied she; but do 
not forget that with us women, the nerves and imagination 
play a great part, and that we ought to be forgiven for a want 
of reasoning. Yes, I confess how unfounded and ridiculous 
my fear is; but I feel an invincible presentiment that this 
Kernoc will press heavily upon my life and be fatal to me, and 
I feel alarmed. I hope, my friend, you do not think,” said she 
in conclusion, “that I am cruel and sanguinary, yet I would 
give ten years of my life, if Bois Hardy had caused this Kernoc 
to be shot.” 

“Alas ! madam, your regret ought to be much less respect- 
ing him than mine,” exclaimed Bois Hardy, who, passing near 
us at the moment, had heard the observation of Lucille. “Not 
that the life or death of this wretch lies much at my heart, but 
his escape in so wonderful a manner has produced a bad effect 
upon the mind of my men. I am come to tell you that I have 
received news that general Humbert, who commands at Mon- 
contour, will come alone, and without an escort to me, to make 
proposals of peace; I cannot express to you how much this 
homage rendered to our loyalty by the republican general, 
touches me. It gives the lie direct to the calumnies of the 
high mountaineers, who represent us as people destitute of 
faith, and as savage beasts, always ready to bite both the in- 
nocent and the guilty. I ask your pardon for quitting you so 
abruptly, but Humbert is waiting for me on the lands of Gaus- 
son, and I must set out immediately; however, before going, I 
will provide you a safe conduct, and give orders that you shall 
be escorted as far as the boundaries of Bretagne.” 

How far was Bois Hardy from suspecting at this moment, 
when he was so happy at the idea of a republican general trust- 
ing to his loyalty, that he would so soon fall a victim of his 
confidence in the word of the Blues, and be assassinated in a 
cowardly manner. 

In our journey across Bretagne, but .one single incident 
16 


368 


NOTES OF -A VOLUNTEER. 

occurred worthy of being recorded. At a little village situated 
at a short distance from Mayence, a young herdsman put into 
the hand of Lucille a paper, and ran away without waiting for 
an answer. Our companion read this missive, which reached 
her in so singular a manner, without any emotion on her coun- 
tenance, and continued to walk on without remark ; and as An- 
selme and I knew that she was charged with a political mission, 
seeing that she did not speak to us about it, we considered it 
good taste not to question her. 

The next day, having passed the night at a farm-house, we 
were about to resume our journey, when a paper at my feet 
attracted my attention. I picked it up, and read as follows: 
“I arrived, my dear friend and coadjutor, at the same time as 
yourself ; I am following on your track ; trust to my prudence, 
and manage not again to lose your presence of mind.” A hor- 
rible thought crossed me, for I suspected that it was the same 
paper that had been given the evening before to Lucille. 

“Madam,” said I to her, putting the open letter in her hand, 
“see what I have found in the grass just now, walking behind 
yoii.’* 

Lucille cast a look of indifference on the note which I pre- 
sented to her: “What is it?” said she, in an absent tone. 

“A treasonable document.” 

“Read it!” 

I obeyed. Lucille listened attentively. 

“I am of your opinion,” said she; “there is treason under it; 

I should not be surprised if the author of this letter is known 
to me, I received yesterday a caution which nearly explains 
your document.” 

If any suspicions had remained on my mind, the perfect 
calm of Lucille, when I showed her the accusing paper, and 
the natural manner in which she answered me, would have 
sufficed to dissipate them. 

Our entry into Mergenne caused us to be witnesses of a 


SAINT LAURENT DES MORTIERS. 


369 


frightful scene, the recollection of which is still painful to me. 
We had reached within about a league of Saint Laurent des 
Mortiers, when we saw a peasant, and by the white cockade 
placed in his hat, we recognized him as a royalist. Coming 
from our hiding-place, Anselme and I presented ourselves be- 
fore him. 

Although surprised, the peasant by no means lost his 
presence of mind ; he poised his musket, and getting behind a 
tree, cried out : “ Do n’t stir, or I will shoot you.” 

“Please to observe, my friend,” said Anselme, “that your 
threat is badly timed, because we are as good royalists as 
yourself.” 

“You, royalists!” repeated the peasant distrustfully, “that’s 
not very probable.” 

“And why so ? ” 

“ Because if you were royalists, you would not be found at 
such a distance from Saint Laurent des Mortiers, which this 
morning fell into their hands.” 

“ We are going to Saint Laurent des Mortiers; will you serve 
us for a guide ? ” 

“ I do n’t wish to hinder you from going where you please ; 
leave me quietly to do the same.” 

“Parbleu! We are going to join M. Jacques,” answered 
Anselme; “ do you know him? ” 

“You are going to join M. Jacques,” repeated the peasant, 
with visible emotion. “You know him, then, do you?” 

“I am his friend,” replied Anselme; “but since you refuse 
to be our guide, we will do our best to find the way alone ; 
much pleasure to you in your suspicions, and farewell.” With 
that, Lucille, Anselme and I resumed our route. 

We had not gone a hundred paces, when the peasant of the 
white cockade rejoined us, with his musket in his bandolin. 

“What,” said I, smiling, “see how you deliver yourself up 
to your enemies.” 


370 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“No, no,” replied he, shaking his head, “I now know well 
that you are brave men on our side.” 

“And how do you know that? ” 

“ Because, it is very certain, that if you were traitors or 
spies, you would not dare to pronounce the name of M. Jacques.” 

This answer, which disclosed on the part of the peasant 
more enthusiasm for his mysterious hero than knowledge of 
the human heart, tended still more to show to what an extent 
M. Jacques had gained the affections and good opinion of his 
adherents. 

«r 

During our short journey to reach Saint Laurent des Mor- 
tiers, our new guide related to us, in his way, the exploits of 
Lucille’s friend. If we were to believe him, he turned aside, 
by a simple movement of his head, the balls of the Blues 
aimed at him, and every enemy whom he touched with his 
sword, fell dead, as if struck with a thunderbolt. 

These exaggerations, related with the most entire conviction 
and good faith, were approved by Lucille, whilst Anselme and 
I avoided throwing any doubt upon them ; and, when within a 
quarter of a league of Saint Laurent, I began to question our 
guide about the inhabitants of the place. 

“Ah, sir ! ” said he, uttering a sigh, “ you cannot imagine the 
bad treatment we have been compelled to submit to from 
them. Their only occupation, for a long time, has consisted in 
pursuing, pillaging and shooting us. I can assure you they have 
never shown mercy to a single Chouan who has fallen into their 
hands. Availing themselves of the friendship they had con- 
tracted with some of our women, they kept up an espionage 
upon our movements, and fell upon us as soon as they knew 
us to be inferior in force, and not in a condition to resist them. 
They may boast themselves of having done us a great deal of 
mischief, but the hour of vengeance is arrived. Coquereau 
has sworn to exterminate them, and he has never yet broken 
his word.” 


COQUEREAU. 


371 


I could have wished to question the peasant about Coque- 
reau, but the fear of awakening his suspicions, by showing 
him that I had never before heard of that chief, who was so 
popular, prevented me. 

“ How has it happened,” said I, “ that Coquereau has been 
able to take Saint Laurent des Mortiers? The inhabitants 
must have been upon their guard ? ” 

“They did not suspect that we were coming to attack them 
to-day, being Sunday. Coquereau has surprised them at the 
municipality, whilst they were engaged in reading the journals 
and the revolutionary decrees ; he has now got the whole of 
them in his power.” 

“Were you present at this surprise?” 

“No, I only heard of it two hours ago, and I am hastening 
thither, in the fear that all will be over when I reach it.” 

“What do you mean by these words, ‘that all will be 
over ? ’ ” 

“ Why, that they will have destroyed all those vipers then.” 

“What! Do you think that Coquereau will cause all the 
inhabitants of Saint Laurent des Mortiers to be shot?” 

“You don’t know Coquereau, then?” said the peasant, 
distrustfully. 

“ T know him well, but only from reputation.” 

“Then why do you put such a question to me?” 

“Because it appears to me that Coquereau himself would 
shrink from such a terrible act of justice.” 

“If he did we would at once withdraw from him,” said the 
peasant, with a scowling air, and eyes sparkling with rage. 
“Do you know that I, who speak to you, had two of my 
brothers assassinated by the national guard of Saint Laurent 
des Mortiers ? Do you believe that we forget these things ? 
I repeat that, if not already done, these cowards will also 
perish.” 

This answer produced a very disagreeable impression on me. 


372 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


for it forewarned me of a bloody drama. However, not wish- 
ing to draw back, I resigned myself to the spectacle that 
awaited me. 

Alas! that spectacle soon presented itself to us. We had 
not gone far, when we saw before us a long and melancholy 
procession, composed of all the inhabitants of the surprised 
town, who, bound two and two, advanced, with slow steps, 
between a double row of Chouans. At the head marched a 
peasant, of savage appearance; it was Coquereau. 

The melancholy cortege was followed by a weeping crowd 
of females, who made the air resound with their cries and sobs. 
I looked at Lucille, but her impassible countenance betrayed no 
emotion. This insensibility greatly diminished the warmth of 
my friendship for her. 

When the procession was within a few paces of us, Coque- 
reau indicated to his Chouans, by a motion of his head, a small 
meadow on the left of the road, and then cried with a thunder- 
ing voice, which sounded in my ears like the knell of death : 
“My friends, the hour of vengeance is arrived; exterminate the 
assassins of St. Laurent ! ” 

Scarce were these words spoken, than the Chouans pushed 
their victims into the meadow, and the carnage commenced. 
What a harrowing spectacle ! The wives and daughters of the 
unhappy condemned threw themselves between them and their 
executioners, and made a barrier of their bodies, crying for 
mercy and pardon. 

“ Back, women ! ” repeated Coquereau, dragging them from 
before the prisoners, “it is God’s justice that is taking place; 
they have martyred us and ours for two years! ” 

A woman, named Marie Chatelain, (so I was afterward 
informed,) deaf to the voice of the implacable Coquereau, 
threw herself into the arms of her husband, who had already 
received a bayonet wound in his shoulder, and was herself 
grievously wounded. At this sight, her companions, renounc- 


LA HEUREUSERIE. 


373 


ing all hope of obtaining mercy for their friends, shut their eyes 
and stopped their ears, or took to flight. 

In half an hour more, for to be still impartial, I must confess, 
that in this abominable execution, extenuated by the excesses 
of the inhabitants of St. Laurent des Mortiers, the Chouans of 
Coquereau displayed a cool ferocity, — in half an hour, I say, 
j - there remained of all the men of the town only five, spared in 
consequence of their great age. 

Two days after the bloody episode that I have related, we 
arrived, toward nightfall, at the entry of the wood of La 
Heureuserie. 

“I think,” said I to Lucille, “ that we shall do wisely to seek 
a shelter for the night; otherwise, we run the risk of sleeping 
in the open air.” 

“We must, on the contrary, accelerate our steps,” she 
replied; “we are expected in the wood. Proceed!” 

It might have been about an hour after we had entered the 
wood, when the cry of a stag struck upon our ear. 

“Answer, La Rochejaqueline and Mayenne,” said Lucille to 
Anselme, “and do n’t spare your lungs.” 

The stentorian voice of my companion immediately roared 
like the discharge of a cannon, and the echoes of the wood of 
La Heureuserie still vibrated, when we perceived at some paces 
from us a company of armed men. Lucille advanced at once 
to meet them, and we followed. 

“Ah! you here, Francoeur,” said she, addressing herself to 
one of the new comers ; “ I am very happy to see you. And 
he, why is he not come to meet me ? ” 

“He has sent me in his place, madam, to inform you that an 
affair of the last importance keeps him absent for a day or two.” 

“And do you know what that affair is ? ” 

“ I regret not being able, madam, to answer your question. 
You are not ignorant, that nobody in the world ever knows 
what he does.” 


374 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“You are right! I forgot. He cannot deceive himself, and 
what he does is always well done. Is it not so, Francoeur?” 

“Yes, madam, always; but what do you propose to do?” 

“ I shall wait here. Have you a shelter to offer me ? ” 

“Certainly, madam, and a refuge, where you will run no 
danger, the Blues being ignorant of the presence of my band 
in the wood.” 

“So much the better, for I want repose; walk on, I will 
follow you.” 

“Who is this Francoeur, madam?” I asked. 

“He is,” said she, “ the companion in arms of Michel Menaut, 
Gaultier, Tranche, Montague, Le Chandelier, Picot, Mous- 
queton, and many other chiefs, who fight under the orders of 
M. Jacques. You see I am now in a country where I am 
known.” 

“You are, madam, a queen in her states.” 

After half an hour’s walk, we arrived at a very small cabin, 
roughly built of planks. “This has been constructed by my 
orders, in expectation of your arrival,” said Francoeur; “I 
regret not having done better.” 

“ Why, it is quite a palace,” said Lucille, laughing. 

“My band surrounds it,” replied he; “thus, if anything 
should happen, on whatever side you turn, you will find 
defenders and friends.” 

After this reply, the chief of the band took us with him to 
his encampment. 

Francoeur’s band was divided into posts, and the one to which 
he took us, was a large cart -house, open on all sides to the 
wind : it contained thirty men. Our arrival awoke the curiosity 
of no one. Francoeur, whom his soldiers treated with affec- 
tionate familiarity, brought us, himself, a piece of bread and 
some fruit for supper. 

“Faith,” said Anselme, who, at two mouths-full, had finished 
his own frugal repast, “ I am not sorry at having arrived at the 


LUCILLE IS SUSPECTED. 


375 


end of our journey. I like M. Jacques with all my heart, 
because he has saved my life, but to speak frankly between 
ourselves, his madam, Lucille, begins, with her imperious 
temper, to bear heavily upon my patience. I am a soldier of 
the king, and not the garde-de-corps of a* wandering princess. 
In short, thank God, I hope they will now set me at 'liberty.” 

“I confess, Anselme, that Lucille, if she has for a moment 
dazzled my reason by her strange character and indomitable 
courage, has not awakened my sympathies. There is a presen- 
timent which tells me that that woman is not worthy the love 
of M. ’Jacques.” 

“ He will, however, if I am not deceived, marry her shortly,” 
replied Anselme. “After the manner in which he expressed 
himself about her before me, it was easy to see that he quite 
adores her.” 

Having shook hands with me in his customary manner, 
Anselme lay down on the floor, and was soon in a deep sleep, 
and I followed his example. I had slept for some time, when 
a violent shake awoke me in surprise. On opening my eyes, I 
saw Anselme bending over me. “What is it?” said I, “are 
the Blues come to attack us? what is the matter? You seem 
quite excited.” 

“ There ’s enough to excite me,” he replied, in a tremulous 
voice. “Ah, if you knew — But let us go out of this shed. 
What I have to say demands privacy.” 

I rose and followed him. “ Speak,” said I, “ and make haste, 
for I, also, have something to disclose.” 

Anselme leaned to my ear, and in a low voice said : “Ah, 
my friend, what a frightful discovery ! I am still asking myself 
if I am not under the influence of a horrible delusion or night- 
mare. About half an hour ago, I awoke, with my mind uneasy 
and tormented. Unable. to sleep, I resolved to make a tour in 
the vicinity, in order- to satisfy myself that all was quiet, and 
I at once started off. I was not more than thirty paces from 
16 * 


3V6 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


Lucille’s room, when, suddenly, the door opened, and I saw a 
man come out. My first thought was, that it was M. Jacques, 
and I rushed toward him. 

“And was it not M. Jacques ? ” said I, interrupting him ; 
“ then who was it ? ” 

“Guess; but no, you never could. The person who came 
out thus in the middle of the night from Lucille’s room, was 
Kernoc, the false Chouan! What do you think of that?” 

“ I am greatly astonished ; but not so much, perhaps, as you 
would imagine. I have suspected Lucille for a long time.” 

“Ah, bah ! and never said anything about it to me ! ” 

“I was afraid you would ridicule me; but finish your 
recital.” 

“You may conceive that my first thought was to run after 
the bandit, but the voice of Lucille, who called me, stopped me 
in the midst of my career. ‘Anselme,’ said she, without giving 
me time to interrogate her, ‘I forbid you to reveal to any per- 
son whatever, the secret of which chance has made you the 
master. There is in it a serious political interest, which you 
will know at a future time, but not now; you are not ignorant 
of the unfavorable impression produced upon me the first time 
I perceived that infamous bandit, Kernoc. You will believe, 
then, that it has been necessary to appeal to all my love and 
devotedness to M. Jacques, to obey him, when he sent me the 
order to receive this man.’ 

‘“What! Lucille, is it by the order of M. Jacques?’ 

“‘Ask no questions,’ exclaimed she, interrupting me, ‘soon 
M. Jacques will thank you for your discretion. Hence ! oblivion 
and silence.’ After pronouncing this with the tone of a 
princess, Lucille re-entered her cabin and shut the door.” 

I was about to respond to the confidence of Anselme, by 
revealing to him my suspicions, when the discharge of firearms, 
followed by cries, arose not far from us in the wood. It was 
the republicans, who attacked us unexpectedly. 


a proof of lucille’s treason. 377 

“ Good heavens S ” said Anselme, “ I ’ll wager my head 
against a dinner, that Lucille and Kernoc are not strangers to 
this surprise.” 

The Chouans, although taken unexpectedly, lost none of their 
coolness. Francoeur showed himself quite equal to the re- 
sponsibility which his command involved. He fought with the 
advantage of a perfect knowledge of the ground, which was not 
the case with the Blues. The Chouans, at first, hard pressed, 
very soon took the offensive, and, when, after two hours’ fight- 
ing, the sun rose on the scene of carnage, the Blues fled in all 
directions. 

When, toward seven o’clock in the morning, I perceived 
Anselme coming toward me safe and sound, I uttered an 
exclamation of delight. As soon as he perceived me, he ran 
toward me. 

“Ah, my friend,” said he, “how much I regret that your 
republican principles prevented you from taking part in our 
diversion. I have been so amused, that I have not once 
thought of my breakfast. But, here comes Lucille; come, 
assume a smiling and amiable air, natural above all things, for 
that woman is sagacity personified.” 

As soon as Anselme had concluded speaking, Lucille 
accosted us. 

“ I am happy to see you again safe and sound, my good 
friend,” said she to Anselme, smiling in her charming manner. 
“The affair has been rough, but we could not be beaten; 
Francoeur was with us.” 

“ Madam,” said Francoeur, “ I have only done my duty, and 
your presence amongst us rendered it easy; My lads knew 
whom they had to defend, and they would be all massacred 
rather than beaten.” 

“ How has it happened, sir,” X asked, “ that the republican 
troops have attacked you? you told me yesterday that they 
were ignorant of the position you occupy.” 


378 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“ Faith, I do n’t know how it has happened ; there may have 
been treason.” 

“ I think not,” said Lucille; “ I see nothing but what is per- 
fectly natural in what has happened. An expeditionary 
column, changing its route, would perfectly explain it.” 

“Yes, you are right,” replied I, seeing her eyes fixed upon 
me ; “ the most essential point is, that victory is declared in 
our favor.” 

During the two days that I remained with Francoeur, I very 
rarely saw Lucille, who was almost always shut up in her cabin, 
and went out only once a day, in order to take an excursion in 
the wood. Francoeur came to us the evening of the second 
day to give us notice to prepare for resuming our journey. 
These preparations were not great. We examined our arms, 
and made the best supper we could. 

“Will you allow me to ask you, madam, where you are 
going ? ” said I to Lucille. 

“We are going to the chateau of la Jupelliere, where M. 
Jacques has provided a rendezvous for us.” 

The chateau of Jupelliere was, properly speaking, only a 
large farm-house, which owed its title of chateau to the two 
towers with which it was flanked, and the ditch that surrounded 
it, outside of which was a stone wall. On our arrival we 
found a numerous company, or rather a numerous assemblage, 
consisting of more than forty Chouans, who acted as scouts at 
the command of M. Jacques. 

The proprietor of la Jupelliere was an old lady of about sixty 
years of age. This lady, although entertaining a profound ad- 
miration for Mons. Jacques, received Lucille with the greatest 
coolness, her questionable position in connection with the mys- 
terious hero not being at all consistent with her ideas of propriety. 

The second day after our arrival, about one o’clock, a peasant 
came to warn us of the approach of the republican troops, who 
were scarcely a league distant from us. 


THE CHATEAU OF JUPELLIERE. 


379 


The force that marched against us consisted of near twelve 
hundred men, and we were only forty in the chateau. The 
old lady proprietor, instead of uttering cries, and giving herself 
up to despair, began, with the help of her two servants, to make 
lint, and prepare beds for the wounded. At three o’clock, not 
seeing the troops appear, we sat down to table as usual to dine. 
We had scarcely half got through the repast, when one of the 
sentinels came to warn us of the approach of the enemy. 
Each then took his musket and rose in silence, and without 
disorder. 

The immense disproportion between our force and that of 
the enemy, was to a certain extent compensated by our position. 
The wall was solid, and the ditch deep, which afforded us a 
great security, and offered serious obstacles to the Blues. 

Soon after, a loud report, followed by a shock which made 
the windows of the chateau shake, told us that the Blues had 
not neglected to furnish themselves with artillery. From that 
moment I looked upon myself as a lost man. 

I will not fatigue the reader with a detailed recital of this 
battle. It will suffice to state that at the approach of night, 
a breach large enough to admit two men was made in the wall 
that surrounded the chateau. The most important point for 
the republicans, was to pass this breach and get at t.he door of 
the chateau; but this task, fortunately for us, was a very dif- 
ficult one. In fact, the Chouans placed under cover in the 
apartments, within twenty paces of the breach, were sure to 
shoot down the republicans who ventured into the passage. 

It was clear to me that the besiegers waited for the shades 
of night, to mount to the assault, and I did not at all doubt 
that they would succeed in their attack. During a slight sus- 
pension of hostilities, employed by the republicans in removing 
their wounded and dead men, Anselme came to look for me. 

“Well, my dear friend,” said he, “it is going on badly; I 
can ’t well see how we shall come out of this affair; can you?” 


S80 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“Alas, I am equally at a loss.” 

He was about to reply, when cries of joy and enthusiasm 
resounded in the great hall of the chateau. We looked at each 
other with astonishment, amounting* almost to stupefaction, 
and ran to ascertain the cause. 

When we reached the great hall, we saw the Chouans wav- 
ing their hats in the air in token of joy, and surrounding a 
young man who might be about twenty-five or twenty-six years 
of age, and eminently handsome. His large black eyes, full of 
expression and fire, his complexion rather pale, his white teeth, 
his fine moustache, and, above all, the noble air which pervaded 
his whole person, formed a strange contrast with the energetic 
characters of the common and rude Chouans who surrounded 
him. 

“ Who is that stranger, and how has he been able to get in 
here ? ” said I to Anselme. 

“Pardieu! It is Monsieur Jacques,” he replied. “As to the 
means he has taken to cross the lines of the enemy, what does 
it signify to enquire ? The essential point is to have him here.” 

When the enthusiasm produced by his presence had a little 
subsided, Mons. Jacques began to speak. 

“My friends,” said he in a clear and vibrating .voice, “I have 
given you a rendezvous at la Jupelliere, in order to take you 
on an important expedition. I thank you for having been so 
punctual. To-morrow we shall enter on our campaign.” 

These words, spoken with perfect composure, and accom- 
panied with a benevolent smile, seemed greatly to astonish those 
present. 

“Mons. Jacques,” said Mousqueton, “will you allow me to 
put a question to you ? ” 

“-Do, my friend, I am ready to answer you.” 

“You speak of an expedition that you have projected, and 
you announce to us that to-morrow we are to enter upon the 
campaign. Be it so. But will it not be necessary for us first 


ARRIVAL OF JACQUES. 


381 


to get rid of the Blues who have blockaded us? That appears 
to me the most pressing question.” 

“Ah! Mousqueton,” cried Monsieur Jacques, “have you 
imagined,, for a single instant, that the Blues who besiege us 
will be able to resist our efforts, when we seriously set about 
putting them to flight? Don’t you all know, mv friends,” 
continued Jacques, raising his voice, and looking round him, 
“ that we are going to beat the enemy ? ” 

“Certainly! yes! yes!” responded these same men, who, a 
few hours before, thought themselves lost, and who now, al- 
though the state of things was still the same, had no doubt of 
victory. 

“And not to lose time,” resumed Jacques, “let us at once 
commence our operations. In an hour from this time the 
Blues will be far from la Jupelliere!” 

Fresh acclamations succeeded these words. The Chouans 
fully believed that some miracle was going to be performed in 
their favor. 

The step which Mons. Jacques took to withdraw us from 
our critical position, was as simple as possible ; and it succeeded 
to a wonder. Having remarked that the wind bore upon the 
enemy, he caused the Chouans to light in the court-yard before 
the breach, a hundred trusses of wet hay, which produced a 
thick smoke, and soon concealed us from the view of the Blues. 
Ten Chouans, placed before the breach, were ordered to keep 
up a continual fusilade, whilst Mons. Jacques, putting himself 
at the head of the thirty men remaining, went out at the back 
of the chateau, and dividing his little troop into two columns, 
fell at once on two opposite sides upon the flank of the enemy. 

The Blues thought it was a surprise, and retreated in dis- 
order, and believing that they had an affair with forces much 
superior to their own, took to flight, throwing away their arms 
in the passage, in order the better to save themselves. In 
half an hour, of the twelve hundred men who had just 


382 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


besieged la Jupelliere, there remained a hundred dead ones. 
Supper hour having arrived, we sat down to table as if noth- 
ing had occurred. This repast, however, differed entirely 
from our dinner of the same day. No more melancholy and 
careworn looks, no foreheads wrinkled with painful reflections, 
or ears listening to the least noise. Frank and noisy mirth, 
almost approaching to a revel, prevailed every where. 

I remarked that during the whole time of the repast, Mons. 
Jacques, seated near Lucille, treated that young woman with 
the profoundest respect. Toward ten o’clock he rose from 
table, Lucille and the old marchioness having previously left, 
and stopping before Anselme and me : 

“Gentlemen,” said he, “if you do not feel too much fatigued, 
I shall be extremely grateful if you will consent to grant me 
an hour of your time. In that case, you will have the goodness 
to rejoin me in my room when you have done supper.” 

“We are at your orders,” I replied, rising. 

“Well, then, in half an hour,” he replied, leaving the room. 

After discoursing for some time, Anselme and I quitted the 
table to accept the invitation of M. Jacques. We found him, on 
entering his chamber, walking up and down with a pensive air. 

On seeing us enter, he came to meet us: “I have to thank 
you, gentlemen,” said he, with warmth, “for all you have done 
for Lucille ; believe me, the happiest day of my life will be 
that in which I shall be able to return the infinite obligations 
I owe you.” 

Anselme and I exclaimed against this, but Mons. Jacques 
stopped us. 

“It is useless for you to attempt to deprecate your hand- 
some conduct,” said he; “Lucille has related to me your 
dangers, the delicate attentions you have paid her, and the 
deep respect you have always shown her ; gentlemen, between 
you and me, if you will allow it, our present connection is for 
life and death.” 


THE INVITATION. 


383 


There was such an accent of frankness in the words of M. 
Jacques, that I felt myself drawn by a lively and deep sympa- 
thy for him. I now understood the ascendancy that such a 
character must exercise over those who act with him. 

“ He has the appearance of a haughty young man and a 
hard heart, this M. Jacques,” said Anselme to me, when we 
had quitted the mysterious hero of the Chouanery, and found 
ourselves alone. “And to think of that base Lucille, a thou- 
sand thunders ! do you know that I was on the point of relating 
everything to him ? Have you observed that since this history 
of Kernoc, the republican troops have twice fallen upon us 
unawares? yet Francoeur, when they came to attack him, 
thought himself out of the reach of the Blues. I do not pretend 
that these are proofs, I only say that it is strange, that *s all.” 

The next day, after the raising of the siege of la Jupelliere, 
M. Jacques took with him all the Chouans who were found at 
!. the chateau, except Anselme and me, whom he requested to 
remain, promising soon to send us some news. 

“Why this exclusion?” asked my companion; “am I then 
no longer able to fire a musket? mark already the malice of 
Lucille.” 

“You deceive yourself, Anselme; what you call an exclusion, 
seems to me, on the contrary, a proof of friendship and confi- 
dence; for it is probable that M. Jacques keeps you in reserve 
for some difficult and dangerous mission.” 

The next day, after a delicious night of repose, and with 
spirits exhilarated by pleasant dreams, I repaired to the dining 
hall, hoping to meet Anselme there, when one of the domestics 
of the chateau informed me that M. Jacques had at daybreak 
sent for my friend. 

After having breakfasted frugally, I prepared to take a tour 
in the environs, when on crossing the threshold of the door of 
the chateau, I saw Anselme returning. At this sight I ran 
and embraced him. 


384 


'NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


“My dear friend,” said Anselme, in a low voice, and gently 
pushing me from him, “ you have made me suffer horribly in 
thus embracing me, for I am wounded.” 

“Wounded!” cried I, remarking then for the first time the 
ghastly paleness of my friend’s countenance. 

“A scratch, my dear friend, but a deep one. A ball in the 
shoulder.” 

“Tell me, how did that happen?” 

“That won’t take long; some one fired a musket at me; he 
took good aim, and I was hit; that’s the whole of it.” 

“But, who fired the musket?” cried I, assisting Anselme to 
enter the chateau, for he had lost a great deal of blood, and 
was so weak that he supported himself with difficulty. 

“Ah, here ’s the whole history of it,” replied he in the same 
cold voice; “but do you know that M. Jacques sent to seek 
me this morning?” 

“Yes, they told me that.” 

“Well, they have deceived you; it was Lucille, — at least I 
have a strong conviction of it, — who made use of this pretext 
to draw me into a snare. As to the rascal whose bullet is still 
lodged in my shoulder, you have known him long enough: it 
is Kernoc.” 

“Kernoc!” repeated I, with horror; “in that case, Lucille 
must be guilty.” 

“ There is no doubt of that.” 

“And this wretched Kernoc?” 

„ “ Kernoc still runs away. Ah ! if he had not shot at such a 
distance, he would no longer be alive, but he had so much the 
advance upon me, that I gave up following him. If you find 
him by chance roving in the neighborhood, do me the pleasure, 
as it does not touch upon politics, to lodge a ball in his head on 
my account ; it would oblige me. ” 

Anselme was of so robust and powerful a constitution, that 
he reached his room without fainting. I helped to get him 


ANSELME WOUNDED. 


385 


into bed, and as no one yet in the chateau knew of the accident, 
I went myself to look for assistance. His wound, although it 
presented no dangerous symptoms, was deep and serious. It 
kept him more than three weeks upon a bed of pain. 

At last, thank heaven, he became convalescent, and the 
doctor permitted him to leave his room. 

The third day of his return to convalescence, Anselme 
obtained from his doctor permission to take a walk. Happy to 
see him enjoy this indulgence, I offered him my arm and 
placed myself at his command. We had scarcely crossed the 
threshold of the door of the chateau when we were accosted by 
a child about twelve years of age, who asked us if the chateau 
which he saw before him was not that of la Jupelliere.” 

“Yes, my little friend,” replied Anselme; “do you wish to 
see any one ? I am myself from the chateau.” 

At the question the child seemed to hesitate, and stared with 
eyes wide open, as if he did not comprehend what was said. 
Then, at last, replied: “I want to see a young lady who lives 
at la Jupelliere. Do you know her?” 

“Is it Lucille, you wish to speak with?” said Anselme, “'if it 
is Lucille you wish to see, she is gone out this morning and 
will not return till night; you must wait.” 

This answer appeared greatly to disconcert the child, who 
repeated with ill humor: “Must wait! but my mother also 
waits for me. Tell me, sir,” continued he, addressing himself 
to me, after a short silence, “if I trust you with a paper that 
they have given me to bring to this lady, will you promise me 
to give it to her as soon as she returns?” 

“ I will,” replied Anselme, taking the letter from him. 

As soon as the little messenger was out of sight, my com- 
panion unsealed the letter. 

“Ah! my God!” cried he, “M. Jacques has been mortally 
wounded in the attack on the town of Daumiray, and he entreats 
his infamous Lucille to hasten to receive his last sigh.” 


386 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


I eagerly examined the letter, which was written with a 
trembling hand by M. Jacques himself; it described to Lucille 
the route she must take to arrive at the cave. 

“ There is no hesitating,” said Anselme to me, earnestly ; 
“you must set out immediately, without losing an hour, or even 
a minute.” 

“Yes, Anselme, you are right.” 

In less than an hour, with my firelock on my shoulder and 
havresack furnished with provisions, I had taken the road. 

The cavern in which M. Jacques had taken refuge was part 
of an old convent sacked in 1793. Thanks to the precise 
directions of the note written by the dying man, I was enabled 
to find him. He was laid upon straw, and suffering under de- 
lirium, and I saw at once that all hope* was gone. Near him 
watched a peasant, whom my appearance surprised and fright- 
ened at first ; but on learning my intentions he was glad of my 
assistance. 

After a violent and protracted fit, M. Jacques slept heavily 
for several hours. On awaking, my presence elicited a cry of 
surprise; but scarcely had I pronounced the name of Lucille, 
than he recollected me, and offering me his hand: “Oh, speak 
to me of her. Will she come soon ? ” 

As I expected this question and was prepared for it, I was 
able to reply to him without hesitation, and in a manner to give 
him no suspicion. I arranged my reply so as to lead him to 
think that Lucille would arrive the second day at the latest. 

“ Oh, my God ! ” he exclaimed, with an expression so full of 
fervor and prayer, that I felt the tears spring in my eyes ; “ Oh, 
my God! grant me four-and- twenty hours of existence! ” 

I wished to console M. Jacques under his misfortune, but 
whether the falsehood threw a coldness and constraint into my 
words, or whether the dying man was conscious of his condi- 
tion, he remained incredulous and would accept no hope. 

“I know well,” said he, “that my moments are counted; 


M. JACQUES IS WOUNDED. 


387 


i that every hour that flows, is carrying me rapidly to the tomb. 
i Oh, my mother ! Oh, Lucille, Lucille ! ” 

“Lucille will come to-morrow,” replied I, in order to 
; calm him; “as to madam, your mother, she must have 
emigrated.” 

“My mother,” said he, interrupting me, “is scarcely a quar- 
ter of an hour’s walk from this place.” 

“ What ! and you have not made her aware — ” 

“No,” he answered, without allowing me to proceed, “I 
wished to spare her the spectacle of my agony, and prevent 
her from compromising herself in the eyes of the republicans, 
by the exhibition of her sorrow. It is the same consideration 
which has made me call myself M. Jacques; my n&me — and it 
is one without a stain — is La Merozieres. It does not matter! 
M. Jacques will live a long time yet in the memory of my 
.brave Manceaux.” 

He remained silent a moment, and attempted to sleep ; but 
I saw by the alteration of his features, that he was in dreadful 
agony, and could only look forward to death, to put an end to 
his sufferings. 

“ Do you know what distresses me most ? ” said he suddenly, 
whilst a slight blush animated his face for a moment. “ It is 
the thought that I die by the hand of one of my own soldiers.” 

“ What ! ” said I, shuddering, “ have you been the victim of 
the treason of your Chouans?” 

“Oh no, not of their treason,” he replied, “but of an acci- 
dent, undoubtedly. No matter, it is very hard, after having so 
often exposed my face to the shot, to die by a wound in the 
back.” 

It required great presence of mind to refrain from declaring 
the treason of Lucille, but I was silent. Nothing, however, 
will ever shake my conviction, that the false Kernoc was the 
assassin of M. Jacques. 

After a moment’s pause, the unfortunate young man, fixing 


388 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


his tearful eyes upon me, with a softened expression, resumed : 
“ May God forgive me, at the moment when I am about to 
appear before Him, my soul is still occupied with worldly pas- 
sions ! After the grief I feel at a separation from my mother 
and Lucille, the idea that torments me most is, that my name 
will soon be effaced from the memory of men. The dream of my 
youth has been to win a place in history. God has punished 
me for my pride; I die under -a name which does not belong 
to me, and without having been able to raise myself above the 
rank of a secondary partizan chief. Yet,” added he, after a 
slight pause, “when I take a view of my past life, I do not see 
that I could have followed any other course; another year, and 
I should have reached the realization of the grand ideas that I 
had conceived. I rallied the Chouanery, and gave them a 
powerful organization ; and from an obscure chief of a band, I 
have become generalissimo of the Catholic army.” 

He remained for some minutes absorbed in reflections; then 
raising himself, he soon resumed, in a firm voice; “No one has 
yet comprehended. La Vendee ! La Roche- Jacquelin, my com- 
rades, Lescure, Bonchamp, Cathelineau, have been great men 
in war, saints or heroes; but they wanted the political idea! 
They never saw, in that grand struggle of royalty with the 
republic, anything but marches, surprises, countermarches, 
nothing else ! Military strategy was not sufficient to combat 
with a principle ! I repeat, that it was necessary to know how 
to oppose principle to principle ! After my death, what intel- 
ligent defenders will royalty still possess ? Alas ! none. There 
is, certainly, Charette, a character wonderfully endowed for 
civil war; but Charette, after all, is only a sublime and pow- 
erful machine, which, for want of a superior direction, will not 
succeed in deeds of vengeance. De la Puisaye ! yes, he looks 
higher, but he submits to English influence. Alas! I repeat, 
that the hopes of royalty will die with me.” 

I will not repeat sigh for sigh, suffering for suffering, the last 


THE DEATH OF JACQUES. 


389 


agony of M. Jacques. Endowed with a powerful physical, as 
well as mental nature, he struggled, with unusual energy, with 
death ; and it was not until the fourth day after my arrival, that 
he succumbed to his wound. 

Assisted by the peasant, who had watched with me, I dug 
his grave in the cavern, and after having recited the prayers 
for the dead, T left the place with slow steps, my heart and my 
eyes swelling with tears. As to the absence of Lucille, who 
had been the cause of his destruction, thanks to the delirium, 
which, from the first day had deprived him of his reason, he 
did not notice it, and thus escaped that sorrow. 

Half blinded by the sun, on coming from that dark retreat, 
where I had passed four days, I was walking away, when 
the peasant, taking me by the arm, and stifling, as well as he 
could, the sobbing which broke his voice: “Sir,” said he, 
“ saving your respect, you must not report' that M. Jacques is 
dead ; that would discourage our friends, and afford too much 
pleasure to the Blues. You will not speak of it?” I promised 
I would not. 

It was only just before arriving at la Jupelliere that I thought 
of Anselme. I then felt astonished that my friend, so enthu- 
siastic in his admiration of M. Jacques, to whom he owed his 
life, had not sent to learn news of him. Alas! how far was I 
from suspecting the motive which had hindered Anselme from 
proceeding, in spite of his weakness, to the cavern where his 
preserver was dying. 

I had crossed the court-yard of the chateau, when a servant 
whom I met, uttered an exclamation of surprise on seeing me, 
and sprung to meet me, saying in a mournful voice, “Run, 
sir, make haste ! he is dying ! ” 

“ Who are you speaking of ? ” I demanded, my heart beating 
violently, for a dreadful thought crossed my mind. 

“ Of your friend,” she replied, “ of M. Anselme ! ” 

Without waiting for any further explanation, I followed the 


390 


NOTES OF A VOLUNTEER. 


servant, and entered the chamber of Anselme, whom I found 
engaged with his confessor. Our hostess, with tears in her 
eyes, stood at the other end of the room. On perceiving me, 
Anselme could not restrain a cry of joy, and stopped himself 
to say to me: “Wait a little, my dear friend, I will finish my 
confession, and then I am at your service.” 

A minute after, the priest gave absolution to my poor com- 
rade, who, making a sign for me to draw near to him, took me 
affectionately by the hand, and asked me with eagerness, 
news of M. Jacques. I held down my head, and kept silence. 

“I understand,” said Anselme, “he is dead! Well, my dear 
friend, I am going to rejoin him. If you have any commissions 
for him, make haste and charge me with them, time presses.” 

“ In heaven’s name,” I exclaimed, “ do not speak thus ! What 
has happened ? You have been committing some imprudence, 
but, proper care and rest — ” 

“Yes, eternal rest,” said Anselme, interrupting me, in a 
feeble voice : “ I have not time to explain the whole thing to 
you; two words must suffice; I have received from Kernoc, 
another ball in my chest. Oh do n’t be uneasy, although I am 
mortally wounded myself, I have not failed in my revenge, I 
killed him. Before he died he confessed everything. That 
jade, Lucille, is named Justine. She is a spy. It was she who 
caused the death of M. Jacques; she was well paid for it. 
My friend, I no longer see you. Adieu! Think of me. I 
have alwaj^s loved you. It is all over. Good night ! ” 

I leaned over Anselme, and raised him in my arms : he was 
dead. Here I finish my memoirs. What signifies my sorrow 
to the reader? I ought, however, to add, that the loss of 
Anselme made me insensible to all that happened to myself, 
and rendered me a great service. Without leave, or troubling 
myself about the consequences, I returned home to my family, 
where, protected by my obscurity, I was suffered to enjoy in 
peace, a tranquillity which I had well earned. 

X 9 " 













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